


Everything I Am Is In Your Eyes

by ambientwhispers



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - BDSM, Anxious Katsuki Yuuri, Canon Rewrite, Depressed Katsuki Yuuri, Dirty Talk, Dom Victor Nikiforov, Dom/sub, M/M, Marking, Masturbation, Obedience, POV First Person, Painplay, Self-Hatred, Smut, Sub Katsuki Yuuri, following list to evolve as chapters are added:
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-28
Updated: 2017-04-03
Packaged: 2018-09-20 10:02:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 39,737
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9486335
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ambientwhispers/pseuds/ambientwhispers
Summary: (BDSM AU rewrite of Yuri!!! On ICE in tight first-person Yuuri POV, one to two chapters covering each episode)Katsuki Yuuri is a twenty-three year old dime-a-dozen figure skater, top-rated by the JSF for reasons he can't quite understand with how hard he keeps choking at nearly every competition he's ever made it to.He figures he's just going to retire now, but then five-time world champion Victor Nikiforov shows up at his family's onsen ryokan. He'll be Yuuri's coach, he says. He'll help Yuuri win the Grand Prix Final.But that isn't all he'll do.





	1. Settling in to Life in Hasetsu Again

**Author's Note:**

> This is a story idea which started eating at me in early December 2016, before YOI finished airing. It would not leave me alone for, like, two weeks before I finally started tapping away at it on my phone. I seriously wrote That Boy Is A Monster, Together Dancing Cheek to Cheek, _and_ Christmas Cakes and Birthday Greats while I slowly tapped away at this story. I figured I should probably just give up and focus on this, so.
> 
> I have a terrifyingly large research folder in my Scrivener file for this story, just so you all know.
> 
> Updates will be slow; I am the parent of two small children and they have to take priority over writing. :)
> 
> Feel free to come see me reblog lots of inane crap and cry over sports anime on tumblr at [analogwatch](http://analogwatch.tumblr.com/). I'll try to talk about this story over there, too!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> My name is Katsuki Yuuri. I am twenty-three years old, the younger of two children in a family which runs the only onsen ryokan left in our tiny tourist town. I’m a dime-a-dozen figure skater, certified by the Japan Skating Federation. I have completed a dismal figure skating season and my last year in metro Detroit, Michigan, in the United States of America. I am back in Japan and I have just gotten off the train in Hasetsu, Saga.

My name is Katsuki Yuuri. I am twenty-three years old, the younger of two children in a family which runs the only onsen ryokan left in our tiny tourist town. I’m a dime-a-dozen figure skater, certified by the Japan Skating Federation. I have completed a dismal figure skating season and my last year in metro Detroit, Michigan, in the United States of America. I am back in Japan and I have just gotten off the train in Hasetsu, Saga.

I find myself surrounded by posters of myself when I arrive at the train station. My eyes are empty in the pictures. I have no true purpose or drive, being mired down in my depression and anxiety, and I feel it is obvious to all.

Don't get me wrong, I love to skate. I love to go out onto the ice. I love to feel the music moving through me, the way I can coax my body into doing incredible and beautiful things, the way people look at me while I'm in the middle of my routine. But beyond those moments, when I am on display for all to see? There is nothing. I am nothing.

And right now I am worse than nothing: I am invisible.

At least, I am until Minako sees me, and then I have nowhere to hide.

“Yuuri!” She cries, and I flinch.

“Hello, Minako,” I murmur. At least this time I remember to start in Japanese. I'd confused a few people in the airport by forgetting to switch back from English. Five years in America had left me reaching for that first instead of Japanese.

She walks a slow circle around me and my skin crawls under her scrutiny. All the flaws on my body stand out to me in stark relief: the layers of clothing I piled on to cope with the end of the Michigan winter before boarding at the Detroit Metro airport there in Romulus, the way that clothing is too lumpy for the layers I'm wearing, the fact that I am fat under them.

“You've been gone a long time,” she finally says.

I nod once. “Yes, Minako. Five years.”

“And how was America?”

“It was nice.” I’m not sure exactly what she wants out of this conversation. I get the feeling she isn't really asking about America.

She eyes me with a critical gaze. “And Phichit?”

Ah, there it is. She's probing. She took what I’ve said about Phichit and decided I talked about him so much because I was interested in him — or even dating him. Of course she wouldn't presume I talked about him because he was — and is — my only friend.

“He's doing well,” I say. “I think he's moving his home rink back to Bangkok.”

“To be closer?”

I press my lips together into a fine line. “To be home.”

She mirrors my expression. My response is unacceptable. She hasn't had power over me in half a decade, and she doesn't like me talking back. She’ll have to get used to it. I don't have the energy to bow to anyone anymore. I left Celestino’s coaching so I wouldn't have to, in fact.

Besides, it always felt like something was missing. Better to step back and figure out what that was.

“They're waiting for you back at the ryokan.” Minako turns in a smooth, practiced pivot that gives away her decades of ballet training. She'd taught me to do that, too. I don't use it much anymore, but watching her do it now reminds me of how I use that motion in the same way: a flamboyant way of showing my anger without _actually_ showing my anger.

With a sigh, I grab my suitcase and roll it behind me as I follow Minako. Behind me I can hear that a couple of  people have recognized me. Before I can pull my privacy mask up and my hat lower to hide, Minako stops short to chastise me.

So, begrudgingly, I shake hands with several fans at the train station. Half of them don’t even recognize me, with the layers of clothing and my rounder face. I can feel Minako’s gaze boring into my back, though, so I comply.

Once the fans and Minako are satisfied, I turn to head out toward the station exit. All I want is to go home to the ryokan, say hello to Vicchan, and soak in the onsen itself until all memory of the last four months is wiped from my mind.

“So,” Minako says from next to me. “I’m sorry I couldn’t make it to Sochi for the Grand Prix Final.”

I shake my head. “Don’t worry about it. It was bad enough knowing you had all watched it live.” I grimace as I recall that phone call with my mother. I’d gone to the bathroom to have some private space after speaking with Celestino about my performance. I had intended to cry, as I often did, but decided to call my mother first. She had told me about the public viewing of my spectacular failure. When I realized what that meant, that everyone in Hasetsu would’ve seen my atrocious performance at the same time, I had apologized to my mother, and burst into tears when I hung up.

“We want you to do well, Yuuri,” Minako murmurs. “We want you to know we’re supporting you here at home, too.”

All the posters in the train station had said they were cheering for me, since I was born and raised here in Hasetsu. I don’t know how they could reasonably have left those up this long after watching me land nearly every jump directly onto my ass.

I sigh. “I know.”

“Did you get to talk to any of the skaters?”

She means Victor Nikiforov, of course. For once I finally got to skate on the same ice as him, like I’d been dreaming of for more than ten years, and this is how I do it: as a miserable failure.

“No.” I decide not to elaborate upon what had happened after the phone call with my mother, where I was screamed at by a teenager. Yuri Plisetsky, who said he would be in seniors next year and didn’t need another person with his name facing off against him. Never mind that my name isn’t even Yuri, not technically.

She looks at me with a face resembling pity, and I sigh. She knows I don’t like to socialize. This should not be a surprise to her.

“I just want to go home, please,” I say. “I started traveling from Detroit almost an entire day ago. It’s fourteen hours behind us. I am exhausted.”

“All right.” Minako turns and walks away, which leaves me to hurry to catch up to her again.

* * *

 “Why are we going in the front door?” I hiss as Minako pushes it open to enter. “ _I live here._ ”

Minako glances back over her shoulder at me, then steps through into the genkan of the ryokan. “We’re home!”

My mother comes running out into the genkan from the lobby, a wide grin on her face. “Minako! Thank you so much for getting Yuuri!” She turns to me, and her smile softens. “It’s been a long time.”

I bow a little, not even thinking of the motion before I’m doing it. I marvel for half a second at how quickly the habit returned after I suppressed it in Detroit for so long. “Yes, it has. I’m sorry I couldn’t come back to visit.”

“And I’m sorry I missed your graduation.” She pulls me into a tight hug and I can barely feel it under all my clothes. I hug her back anyway.

“Yuuri…” Minako says, and I can hear the danger in her voice.

I step back from my mother and straighten up. The skin prickles on the back of my neck, sweat rising from a mix of the warmth of my home and the anxiety of what I know Minako is about to say.

She continues speaking anyway, either unaware or willfully ignorant of my discomfort. “I've been looking at you since I saw you at the station. You're wearing an awful lot of clothing…”

I back up and wish my sneakers weren't tied so tight so I could kick them off here in the genkan and run for the safety of my bedroom before she can confirm anything she’s suspecting about me. It feels like my clothes are strangling me, straining against how fat I have become.

Minako follows me, her grace seeming less like a ballerina and more like a lioness stalking her prey. “Take off your coat, Yuuri.”

I’m going to trip backwards over the genkan’s step into the main room soon enough so I try to see if I can slip my shoes off without untying them. Unfortunately I cannot, and I nearly trip anyway before Minako grabs me by the collar and unzips my coat. She’s going to see, everyone’s going to see what I’ve done to myself—

“Yuuri!” She wails, her face falling in despair. “What have you done? This isn’t what a figure skater should look like! How will you compete this year?”

I grab the sides of the coat again, pulling it closed around myself again. The self-loathing bubbles up within me, a black mass boiling my stomach away. “Please. Just let me go.”

My mother steps in between Minako and myself again. “Yuuri, why don’t you go say hi to Vicchan?”

I can already feel the sadness well up inside. “I’d like to. Thank you.” I stuff the feelings back down, where I don’t have to worry about them coming out to make me a burden to Minako and my family. I give a shallow bow then sit to remove my shoes. I carefully ensure they're positioned appropriately, then take the handle of my suitcase and begin to roll it toward my bedroom. All the while, I pray for the numbness which could pass for serenity, which has been my companion for almost as long as I can remember.

I drop the luggage and my outer layers off in my room, and head back to the shrine to say hello to Vicchan, my toy poodle who passed away right before the Grand Prix Final.

I’d gotten that dog because of Victor. Named it Victor. And then couldn’t even be here when it was his time.

I clench my fists for a moment and squeeze my eyes tight against the threat of tears, then kneel before the shrine and light candles and incense. All the guilt around Vicchan comes rushing back now, and I let it wash over me. It wrings me out and leaves me feeling as though that gaping hole I’d had since the phone call about Vicchan wasn’t so big after all. That maybe I wasn’t such a failure for not being here when it was his time.

“Welcome back, Yuuri,” a familiar voice says, and I turn to see my older sister in the doorway.

“Thank you, Mari,” I say. “How have things been here at the ryokan?”

She shrugs and pulls out a cigarette and lighter. “About as well as could be expected. And what about you? Are you going to help out around here now that you’ve graduated from college? Is that what this is?”

I freeze, then blink a few times. I hadn’t really thought this through, yet. Just that I wanted to hide for a while, and figure out what exactly I was missing in my skating. “I’m… I don’t know.”

Mari lights the cigarette and pulls a deep drag. When she speaks, the smoke billows out around her head. “Well, whatever you decide, I’m with you. If that means supporting you while you skate, then fine. If it means assigning you tasks here around the ryokan, then that’s fine too.”

I open my mouth to reply, but she turns to leave the room again. “Take your time deciding, Yuuri. Go ahead and relax in the onsen. You deserve it.”

There wasn’t a hint of resentment in her voice, not an ounce of regret for the fact that I got to travel the world and attend a foreign university while she stayed here to help with the ryokan. I smiled, the first genuine smile I’d had in a while, and turned back to the altar. Mari always got me. It was easier to face life knowing I had her quiet support behind me. I’d missed her terribly while in Detroit, even though we’d Facetimed as much as possible.

“I’m glad I’m home, Mari,” I whisper, and close my eyes.

* * *

 The heat from the onsen seems to seep into my very bones, as though the knots in my muscles I'd had since halfway through my time in Detroit were untying themselves. I sink lower, the steaming mineral-rich water coming up to my ears, my washcloth balanced delicately on my forehead.

I'd been in a deep depression since the phone call about Vicchan. It had lingered through my abysmal performance at the GPF, and through the even worse time at the Japan Nationals. Each successive failure had made the depths deeper, the anxiety bigger. Each time I had fallen short, the noise in my head had gotten louder.

Now in the onsen, for the first time in months, I can feel the edges of the cloud lift.

To tell the truth, I am bored of laying in my bed all day, like I have been the last few weeks. I am bored of only getting up to perform the bare minimum my family expects of me. I am bored of existing only to gorge myself until I feel sick and sleep until my next obligation.

I sigh and scrub my hands over my face. The Detroit Skating Club had felt so far away from the room I shared with Phichit, being that it was in Bloomfield Hills and we weren't, but the Ice Castle Hasetsu is close enough to walk to. Skating always has been my refuge. There’s no reason why it can't be again.

I climb out of the onsen and head back inside to get dressed.

So I'll go back to skating at the Ice Castle. And then what will I do?

Minako is sitting in the lobby of the ryokan watching the broadcast of the Worlds when I walk in.

I should have been there.

The clouds of my depression are rolling in again and I shut myself down against the worst of the squalls.

Minako is mumbling something to herself about me giving her hotel room numbers for the other skaters and the clouds twist into a storm.

“I wouldn't give them to you,” I snap. “I am not your meal ticket to getting laid.”

She turns to face me and I can see she's been drinking for a while. “Yuuri,” she whines. “I've _supported_ you!”

I hear a name — Victor Nikiforov — and my eyes flick up to the television. Of course they'd focus on him even when he's last in the skating order, he's the favorite to win for a fifth time. On screen he’s practicing a step sequence from his free program, as best as he can outside of the rink. His face is beautifully emotive, and I can _feel_ the ache in my chest he's trying to portray.

One of the other patrons grabs the remote from Minako and tries to turn on soccer. I'm broken out of the trance I fell into watching Victor rehearse, and I shake my head. I need to go. I have to get this out, I can't let it fester.

I pray the Ice Castle is still open.

* * *

 The Ice Castle looks empty as I approach and I stuff down the fear that I won't be allowed in or be able to skate. The automatic doors open, though, so I go in.

“Our normal hours are over,” a voice I hadn't heard in five years says.

“Sorry, Yuuko. I…” I trail off as Yuuko turns to face me.

“Yuuri?” Her whole face brightens up, that smile I’d loved when we were rink mates here lighting up the space behind the counter where she'd been shelving rental skates. “Yuuri, you're back!”

I nod. “I just got back from Detroit a couple weeks ago, yeah.”

“Do you want to skate?” She's still smiling, still that same bright Yuuko she'd been when we were kids, until I left here at barely eighteen to go to America.

“Is… that okay?”

She nods and grins. “I know you like to skate alone. I’ll watch out for you, Yuuri. Go ahead.”

I take off my backpack holding my skates and other gear, and change into them while Yuuko finishes up the last of the paperwork she needs to do for the day.

Yuuko was the first skater I met when I started skating here at Ice Castle Hasetsu at Minako’s suggestion. I’d been doing so well in her ballet class, and she knew I had a better chance of going places in figure skating than in ballet.

So I came here to begin training as a figure skater, and Yuuko was one of my rink mates. She is the one who introduced me to Victor Nikiforov, the year I was twelve and Victor was sixteen. He won the Junior Worlds that year. His short program costume was black and mesh, half a skirt with a peek of red underneath over his right hip, crystals over his right shoulder and across his waist to his left hip. His long silver hair cascaded down from a high ponytail…

I could still skate that routine beginning to end from memory. Yuuko could too, I was sure — that’s what we spent our free time doing, after all: mimicking Victor.

Once I’m laced up, and have stretched as sufficiently as I can be with my only warmup being the jog over here, she calls, “Ready to go into the rink, Yuuri?”

I nod. “Yeah. Let's go.”

I am taller than her flat-footed but the three inches the skates add make me towering, and it feels strange. I remember when we were kids and even her barefoot and me on skates still had me barely above her shoulder. Even right before I left for Detroit I wasn't all that much taller than her on even footing — my final growth spurt had hit a few months after beginning to train with Celestino, and it had been embarrassing to try to buy new clothes with my heavily accented, not-yet-fluent English.

This feeling was simply another reminder of how much time had gone by, how much had changed. How nothing could ever stay the same.

I stop at the rink entrance to remove my blade guards, and step out onto the ice. This is home to me. Not necessarily the Ice Castle specifically, because I had the same feeling at the Detroit Skating Club, but the ice itself. This is home. I am free here, feeling less tied down than I did when my feet fought against friction on unfrozen ground.

I loop around to where Yuuko is waiting, and come to a smooth stop. I set my blade guards on the barrier next to her, then slip off my vest to place next to those. Finally, I remove my glasses, fold their arms in, and place them in her waiting palms.

“I… figured you’d want to see this,” I whisper, staring down at the familiar kana on the barrier in front of me. “So I’ve been practicing it since… since my competition season ended.” I glance up at her, draw a deep breath, and say, “So please watch me.”

I don’t even look back to make sure she’s watching before I skate out to the center of the rink and assume the starting pose. I don’t have Victor’s free skate music with me, but I would bet all the US currency left in my wallet plus all the yen in my bank account that from this pose alone Yuuko knows exactly what I’m about to do.

The music flows through my mind as surely as if I had it playing, and so I move. The same motions Victor makes, the same poses and expressions, the same jumps in the same places, exactly as I have rehearsed, again and again.

Yuuko and I used to copy Victor’s routines, and skating through them with her was some of the most fun I’ve ever had on the ice. I felt like I’d lost that when I choked at the Grand Prix Final, and thought that maybe teaching myself Victor’s free skate from this year was the way to recapture that.

I wish I could have learned it with Yuuko, but I don’t know what she’s capable of anymore. I’ve been gone for five years. Has she kept up with the more advanced techniques? She’s twenty-five now, after all, and that is bordering on old in the figure skating world.

The spins and step sequences are the easiest part of Victor’s routines, partially because I’d had a lot of time to practice them and they called up my ballet roots so easily, and partially because Victor prefers his flair to come out in jumps I can’t even do reliably in competition yet. Still, the last combination spin at the end of his routine takes all my effort. I normally have an incredible amount of stamina, but the fact that I’ve been hauling around a heavier body not well-suited to jumps anymore combined with my exhaustion from adjusting back to Japan time (and my depression, if we’re going to be honest) has left me clawing at the tenuous grip I have on this routine.

I hit the final pose without any major errors, and I’m staring at the ceiling, arms crossed over my neck, gasping for air. The hate begins to well up again — how could I have let myself fall this far, I shouldn’t be this exhausted after this routine — but Yuuko snaps me out of it with her hands slapping against the barrier.

“That was _amazing_!” She cries, her eyes wide. “That was a perfect copy of Victor! I can’t believe it, Yuuri!” She pauses for a moment, then speaks again, more subdued this time. “I thought you would’ve been depressed after that… after what happened at the GPF and Nationals.”

“I mean… I have been?” I say as I wrack my brain to try to figure out how to word this. “But I’ve been trying to fight it. I wanted to figure out what was missing from my skating, so… I thought maybe I could find it if I went back to the beginning, what you and I did after watching the Worlds that year. How I truly fell in love with skating, by skating Victor’s routines with you.”

I take a deep breath. The ship has sailed, the opportunity passed long ago, but if I’m going to be spending any significant length of time here at the Ice Palace with her working here, I need to tell her. I can’t try to avoid her like I did before I left for the States. “Yuuko, listen… I have to tell you something. When we were kids, I—“

I am interrupted by three young girls popping up in front of Yuuko. Of course.

Yuuko beams. “Haven’t Axel, Lutz, and Loop grown since you saw them last?”

It takes me a moment to find my thoughts again. “Um, yeah. I don’t even think they were a full year old yet when I left Hasetsu.”

The three girls begin to pelt me with questions and I think I catch a few of them — something about retirement, and definitely at least one comment on my weight, which does nothing to help the constant voice in my head about it — but Yuuko interrupts them in return.

“I’m so sorry,” she says. “They’re really into figure skating, so they were excited to see you.”

“They’re fans of yours,” I hear, combined with the sharp sound of skate blades across ice. I start to turn but he hugs me from behind instead.

“Nishigori!” I choke out. Nishigori Takeshi, Yuuko’s husband. The father of the triplets. Part of the reason why that crush on Yuuko I had never went anywhere.

That and my own teenaged incompetence, anyway.

Nishigori's hands go for my waist and I go rigid. Much like Minako did when I arrived, he is about to expose my ruined body to all the world — why is everyone determined to see exactly how badly I’ve fucked up? — and I am powerless to stop him. He laughs into my ear as he slaps my soft stomach, rounded out now with too many late-night cheeseburgers and idle snacks eaten back in Detroit. It used to be perfectly flat, even with a bit of definition.

I feel sick.

I slip out from his grasp and pivot on the ice to face him again. “Please… don’t, Nishigori. I know.”

He pauses, then holds a hand out to the triplets. “Girls, calm down.” He turns back to me. “I’m sorry. So you’re back here?”

I nod. “I broke off the coaching with Celestino, so… I’ll be here for the time being.”

“Are you not going to compete next season?”

I grimace and fidget. I can feel the toe pick digging into the ice. “I don’t know.”

“Well, you can come here to skate whenever you want.” Nishigori smiles at me, wide and bright in a way my smiles never are. “We — all of us, the entire Nishigori family — will support you. You’ve got a place here, Yuuri. We’ll make sure of it.”

Relief floods through me. I think I can forgive him for the transgression earlier. “Thank you!”

* * *

 I am still rubbing at my hair with the towel around my neck when I go back to my bedroom. So much of my life is wrapped up in here, all the different stages contained within. There's still remnants of my childhood combined with the hints of other interests: an electric keyboard sits in a corner, art supplies are scattered over my desk, books line a bookshelf.

The one thing that is truly obvious is that Victor is my idol, and has been for some time. The walls in my room are covered in posters, generated over the course of his career. I have one of him in that Junior Worlds costume, a few of him posing in photoshoots, and a few others made from pictures of him skating.

I stretch out on my bed and yawn. I’d already gone to the Ice Castle today and practiced for most of the day, and after bathing and soaking in the onsen I really don’t want to do anything but go to sleep.

So, I sit up and kick off the socks I’d put back on, yank my shirt over my head, and push my track pants down to the floor. I pull back the covers and climb under them in only my boxer briefs.

I don’t normally sleep in only my underwear, but I get the feeling I’m going to want easier access to myself tonight.

I haven’t let myself think of anyone — not Yuuko, not Phichit, for all the good _that_ crush had done, not even Victor — since coming back home to Hasetsu. I haven’t touched myself in _weeks_ , and I can feel it in the way my body is responding even laying here under the covers with next to nothing on.

My fingers trail their way down my stomach without any conscious thought from me, something I’ve always done because this is how I’ve started it a million times before. It’s better this way; less like I’m only jerking off and more like I’m trying to make love to myself since nobody else ever has.

God, not that I haven’t wanted them to. It’s just… never worked out. It’s probably always been me that’s been the problem, I don’t know.

I groan in disgust and grind the heels of my hands against my eyes. It’s a great way to kill the mood, to start kicking my own ass when I want to just fucking get off.

A few minutes tick by with me pressing my hands to my eyes, mentally screaming at myself to shut up. Finally, the self-loathing dies down to an acceptable level, and I drop my hands back down to my sides. The room is fuzzy now, fuzzier than it normally is without my glasses in the way, but I still know where every poster is, how each of them look.

I let the thoughts of Victor drift in. What would he be like? I haven't spoken a word to him, though he once spoke to me; it wasn't enough to determine a personality and so it’s easy enough for me to fill in the massive blank with my own ideas and fantasies.

I have _a lot_ of fantasies.

I imagine he’d start with kissing me, as that’s where it always starts, isn’t it? His lips would be so soft against mine, with that lip balm he loves.

(I looked up the price of it once, out of curiosity. I decided I was better off sticking to lip balm in a tube.)

The kisses would start gentle, feeling things out, seeing where they go, then they would turn hard and demanding. He would claim me, and I would gladly allow it. Our hands would each rove the other’s body, tugging at articles of clothing blocking access to soft skin, while we each panted against the other’s mouth.

I catch my lower lip between my teeth as I slide my hand under the waistband of my boxer briefs, and take my cock in my hand. I muffle my moan by biting down onto my lip, and the pain both helps draw me back and makes everything more intense. I drag my hand up my length and breathe through my nose with the stroke.

Victor would shift the kisses across my cheek to my earlobe and then there would be a flash of teeth. I would moan because of course it would feel amazing to have Victor’s teeth on me, especially there, and I would press my hips up against him in a silent plea for more. He would bite again and I would writhe under him in a mix of agony and pleasure.

Would Victor taunt me here, like I’d seen happen so often in porn? Would he goad me in English, in the language we shared, in a way that would encourage me? Or would he do it in Russian, those harsh syllables directly against my ear somehow better and worse because I’d have no idea what he was really saying?

I moan softly as I move my hand a little faster. The underwear is confining me, but I tolerate it for now because it controls my pace and keeps me from pushing myself too hard or too fast. I do kick the covers off, though. It’s easier to move my whole body this way, and I take advantage by beginning to roll my hips into each stroke.

Now Victor would move down my neck, teeth scraping and biting. He’d suck, too, yes, he’d absolutely leave me with a whole mess of hickeys that I wouldn’t be able to hide, and I’d beg him for more.

Just the thought of begging Victor brings his name to my lips, and it escapes in a low moan as I curl my hand around the head of my cock. I’m taking it slow right now, but my whole body is moving with each stroke, and giving in feels good.

Oh, taking it slow. Victor would absolutely tease me. The pain he’d keep up on — I’m no stranger to it — but he would take his sweet time giving me the pleasure I craved. I would move under him, try to coax him into going faster, giving me more of what I craved. Victor is stronger than that, though, and he wouldn’t relent. I know he wouldn’t. He would start to stretch those bruises and bites down my chest, toward my nipples.

As I craft this picture in my mind, I take a nipple in my free hand and pinch it. Not hard enough to hurt at first, but hard enough to be uncomfortable. All the while I keep my hand moving along my cock, the speed picking up as much as it can within the confines of my underwear while the pain builds. I clamp my lips shut against a moan threatening to slip out louder than I want.

Victor would ignore my cock, ignore my moans and cries as he continued to leave dark marks and red teeth imprints all down my stomach, and then he would scrape his fingertips — covered by his black leather gloves, of course — up my thighs as he moved back up. He’d ask me what I wanted, his voice taunting and his accent thick, as if I weren’t already hoarse from begging for it. _Touch me, please, God, just touch me._

I draw my hands back from my cock and nipple to push my underwear down and kick them off somewhere. They hit something in the dark but I can’t bring myself to care where they’ve landed; I’ll find them in the morning, I’m sure. As I take my cock back in my hand I stuff my fist against my mouth to smother the loudest moan yet. I bring my feet up and let my knees fall to the side, and that feel of being open intensifies everything. The weight of my balls pulls them a little tighter, and I lift my hips into each of my strokes.

As a final touch, I bring my free hand up to my nipples again, and twist one _hard._ I smother a whimper by biting my lower lip.

Victor would still be fully dressed, of course. I’ve seen him in suits at press conferences. The man looks good in a suit, and he’d fuck me in one tonight. He still wouldn’t touch my cock, of course, despite my protestations, and he would reach up to pinch one of my nipples hard. _You don’t get to control how this goes, pet._

My hips jerk up when I imagine him saying that to me, in that low voice of his. What I wouldn’t give to be Victor’s, completely and wholly. I move my hand faster along my cock, my breath coming hard and fast through my nose as I pinch and tug at my nipples. My mind begins to rush through the fantasy now as my orgasm builds to its peak — Victor peeling a glove off with his teeth and stuffing it into my mouth, Victor pushing two fingers into me, Victor pushing his trousers down just far enough to fuck me —

I cry out before I can stop myself, my body snapping to attention as I spurt through my fist.

The come cools on my stomach and chest as I lay panting on my bed. I can tell I’ll be sore in the morning from the abuse I’d given my nipples, and consider which of my shirts fit looser for my skating practice tomorrow.

Of course, I also consider that the ache is nice. Maybe I’ll make sure I pack bandages for in case they get too irritated.

Now I wish I hadn’t kicked my underwear so far away. I climb out of bed with a groan and go to my desk, where thankfully I had the foresight to leave some tissues. It’s too late to bathe again, but I’ll need a true bath in the morning. The last thing I want to do is try to skate with dried come pulling at my skin.

I climb back into my bed, pull the blankets up, and close my eyes.

* * *

 I think I’ve lost a little bit of weight already. I might be imagining the way my jacket zipped up today, though. It didn’t feel like as much of a struggle after my soak in the onsen and I can’t decide if it’s because I truly am smaller, or if I just got better at sucking in my gut.

I have been spending every day at the Ice Castle. My body aches in ways it hasn’t ached in months, since I dropped the frequency of my training after failing at the Japanese Nationals, but I treasure the pain since it’s simply muscle soreness. Every time a muscle screams when I move, I suppress a smile. It reminds me of what I could be capable of, if I could only stop failing.

If I could only pull it together and succeed like Victor, and like Yuri Plisetsky. I saw him on the television earlier today — they called him a rising star. They said he’d help bring Russia into a new era with two champions. Champions like I can’t be for Japan. I saw his quads, he landed two of them in that short special.

He will absolutely demolish me, if I even skate next season.

The posters of Victor stare down at me from my bedroom walls. I _have_ to skate next season. I have to face him again.

My phone chimes, and it snaps me out of my thought. I glance down and it’s a text from Nishigori. It’s awfully late for him to be texting me, but I open it anyway. All it says is, “I’m sorry,” and has a YouTube link.

**_[KATSUKI YUURI] TRIED TO SKATE VICTOR’S FS PROGRAM [STAY CLOSE TO ME]_ **

Oh my God, someone recorded me skating for Yuuko.

Oh my God, there are _thousands_ of hits on this video. I have never had one of my videos get this many hits.

Oh my God, with this many hits there is no way Victor doesn’t know about this video.

I call Nishigori, and he answers on the second ring.

“What the _fuck_?!” I hiss into the phone.

I can hear Yuuko screaming in the background, and it sounds like it’s directed at the triplets.

Nishigori sounds very remorseful. “I’m so sorry, Yuuri. The girls recorded and uploaded the video without our knowledge, and it went viral.”

I can’t breathe. It feels like I have a vise around my chest, and it won’t expand to let air in. My heart is trying to jump out of my throat.

“Good night,” I murmur, hang up the phone, and let my body collapse to the floor. This can’t be happening. I cannot be so unfortunate as to have had Victor see me skating his routine with no music in an old, run-down rink in a tiny tourist town in Japan. I cannot be so unfortunate to have Victor see what I have done to my body, and to see me forcing such a monstrosity to skate _his_ routine. His perfect, beautiful routine, with _my_ body.

I feel like I’m about to throw up.

Minako is stomping down the hall toward my bedroom, yelling about the video. Of course Minako knows about the video, which means everyone knows about the video, which means my life is effectively over.

Wonderful.

* * *

 “Yuuri, don’t just hole yourself up in your room all day! We need you to help shovel snow!”

I must still be half asleep. There’s no way my mother asked me to shovel… “Snow?” I mumble as I push myself up in bed. I turn to the window and throw open the curtains, only to get an eyeful of the sun reflecting off the blinding white. I haven’t seen anything like it since before I left Detroit.

I’m shocked. Snow in April, especially here in Hasetsu, is nearly unheard of. I reach down to grab my phone, to see if I can find out anything more about the snowfall, but I realize I turned it off to make sure I wouldn’t get any calls or texts from anyone else about that video.

That’s probably the best course of action to take, I decide, and so I climb out of bed to get dressed. My things have arrived from Michigan, but I don’t need a lot of it. Just the scarf and coat I wore on the flight home will be enough over a standard outfit, I think. Once I get moving I’ll be plenty warm enough.

The TV in the lobby is talking about the snowfall, and how the projected good day for hanami has been abruptly proven wrong. I stop at the genkan to pull on my sneakers, pick up the snow shovel, and open the front door only to be greeted by a poodle charging straight for me.

For a moment, my heart leaps. It’s almost like Vicchan is still here!

Then the dog jumps on me and I realize it is a standard poodle, not a toy poodle, and it is very heavy with its front paws on my chest, licking my face.

There’s no way this dog is the dog I think it is. No, absolutely not. Some other guest just happens to have a brown standard poodle.

“Yuuri, doesn’t he look a lot like Vicchan?” My father asks from behind me.

I’m about to answer when my father continues.

“He came here with a really good-looking foreign guest!” He’s taunting, now, a good-natured teasing tone in his voice. Oh, God, no. Please don’t let it be him.

My father continues anyway. “He’s in the onsen right now!”

No, no, no! I scramble up, away from the dog — it’s Makkachin, it has to be — and frantically kick off my sneakers. My glasses slide down and I shove them back up before trying to get my feet under me as I sprint away from the genkan. I can hear my father behind me asking what’s wrong, but _he knows_ , of course he knows who Victor Nikiforov is, he’s been in my bedroom within the last decade, and the fact that Victor is _here_ is terrible.

I lose my balance and knock over half the merchandise on a table as I skid by. I hear the items clatter against the floor and pray none of them are damaged, but I can’t stop. I have to make it out to the onsen. I have to… what, do I need to prove to myself that he isn’t here? That he _is_ here?

He’s not in the bathing area. My glasses fog up as I hit the indoor pools, and I swipe madly at the lenses. He’s not here, either.

I scramble outside, still in my socks, where my glasses promptly fog up again. I don’t need to see clearly to know what’s happening, to know that there’s a man with silver hair sitting in this onsen, to know that I want to drop dead right here.

As my glasses clear, he stands up in the pool, and oh God, he’s so naked, of course he’s naked, but I didn’t think I’d ever get to see it, and he gives me a wide grin as he says, “Yuuri!”

Oh my God, how did he find out where I lived? I mean — I’ve talked about Hasetsu in interviews, and… and I’m sure the onsen ryokan has come up, but… but he couldn’t have dug through all of that just to figure it out, could he?

Victor’s grin somehow grows even wider as he reaches an arm out to me. “Starting today I’m going to be your coach! I’m going to make you win the Grand Prix Final.”

I don’t even want to think about the Grand Prix Final, not with how the gold medalist is standing naked in front of me while I got last place, more than 100 points below him. I don’t want to think about going back there to fail again.

I don’t want to think about how hard I suddenly am within my jeans.

“Oh, my God,” I whisper.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Worth noting: I live in metro Detroit, so I do have Yuuri saying some pretty location-specific things that other people tend not to have represented in fic. That trend will continue! I have a lot of headcanons about things Yuuri and Phichit got up to around here, so those might get mentioned. (Like Meijer runs at 2 AM. And Yuuri's possible love of coney dogs. And the one Japanese bookstore I know of that Yuuri probably went to when he was feeling a little homesick.)
> 
> I plan to keep a chapter ahead of what I have posted -- so for example, now that I have completed chapter two, I am publishing chapter one.
> 
> While chapter one was all episode one, chapter two will only be the first half of episode two. :)
> 
> Thanks in advance for kudos and comments! They're so incredibly encouraging. <3


	2. Turned Upside Down

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Victor Nikiforov has arrived in Hasetsu, and Yuuri's life has been turned upside down. He's gone from a face plastered on Yuuri's bedroom wall to a living, breathing legend sleeping _meters_ from Yuuri. He has laid down a requirement: Yuuri cannot skate until he weighs the same as he did at last year's Grand Prix Final. As a result, Yuuri throws himself head-first into training, and he and Victor have an encounter he'll never forget.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 3 was shorter (a little over half the length of Chapter 2) so I was able to get this one up in what, twelve days? Within the "no more than three weeks between chapters" rule I set for myself, so good job, me. (Reminder that updates are slow because children. Being a Fandom Old is hard.)
> 
> This chapter covers the first half of episode 2, ending just before Yurio arrives in Hasetsu.
> 
> Feel free to come follow me on tumblr at [analogwatch](http://analogwatch.tumblr.com) to see me reblog too much stuff about Toyonaga Toshiyuki and cry about sports anime and idol anime. And also talk about this story sometimes. :)

My life has spiraled out of control.

Victor Nikiforov is asleep on the floor of the lobby of the onsen ryokan. I am sitting in the same room as Victor Nikiforov, who is wearing only a yukata and _asleep_.

I am sitting in the lobby of my family’s onsen ryokan, staring at _Victor Nikiforov_ , who is laying on the floor in one of our yukata and cuddling his dog in his sleep.

Not even two hours ago, Victor Nikiforov was standing naked in my family’s onsen, hand extended to me. _“Starting today I’m going to be your coach! I’m going to make you win the Grand Prix Final.”_

I can’t get the image out of my head of Victor in the onsen, snow scattered on the bushes behind him, a hand held out to me in invitation, _naked._ He wasn’t the least bit ashamed of it. I could see everything. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to see it before, because I did. It wasn’t even that I hadn’t _thought_ about it, because I absolutely had. But to have all of him laid bare in front of me had been beyond—

“Why is Victor sleeping in one of the yukata, Yuuri?!” Minako’s voice wasn’t far above a whisper, but it still had all the same frantic tone I would have expected had she been shouting the question at me.

I jump as Minako’s words register with me. I wish I had a better answer for her. Hell, I wish I had a better answer for _me_. “He soaked in the onsen, then ate dinner, and…” I shrug helplessly as I gesture at his sleeping form with an open hand, “… he fell asleep.”

Minako sighs and sinks down onto the tatami next to me. “It’s all over the news in Russia. They’re talking about how Victor Nikiforov took the season off and is planning his next move.”

Victor rolls over to face away from us and we both freeze. I’m holding my breath and I’m sure Minako is as well, and we only relax when Victor’s breathing goes deep and even again. Not even Makkachin has stirred with Victor moving.

“They’re also saying that when he saw the video of you skating his routine he was _struck with inspiration_.” I can nearly hear her rolling her eyes in the words alone. “That’s apparently when he decided to be your coach.”

How could my skating have brought Victor here? I looked horrible in that video. There is no way he saw me, as out of shape as I am, skate that routine, and found even a single ounce of inspiration in it.

“Victor came here because he chose you, Yuuri.” Minako always did have a knack for determining what I’m thinking about when I start to sink too low. “ _You_ brought him here.”

I brought him here. _Me_.

I brought Victor Nikiforov all the way from Russia to my family’s tiny onsen ryokan, all the way away from his own coach and his own rink mates and his own career to coach me.

And here he is, asleep in front of us. The back of the yukata has slipped down, as it usually does, and I can see where his neck meets his shoulders. God, it looks beautiful, how slender his neck is combined with how muscled his shoulders and upper back are. The skin looks so delicate, and my fingers itch to reach out and touch it. Just a single brush of my fingertips against his skin, to see if it feels as good as it looks. To see if it’d feel as good for him as I think it would.

I clutch at the front of my shirt instead, my fingers digging into the material in an effort to restrain myself. I can’t touch him. He’s only here to be my coach. I need to get myself under control.

Abruptly, Victor sneezes, and Minako and I both gasp. He sits up, and mumbles — first in Russian, which I don’t understand as well, then in English — something about being hungry. The yukata slips off his shoulder, which lays another expanse of his soft, creamy skin bare. My stomach drops to my knees and my pants grow tighter from the sight. Does he _realize_ how sexy he looks this way, still rumpled from sleep, with the yukata hanging _just so_ from his body? Is he doing it on purpose?

With effort, I drag my thoughts back to what he said. I’m not sure how he could possibly still be hungry after how much he ate before falling asleep, but maybe he hadn’t eaten much on the plane ride over.

A quiet voice in my head points out that if I ate like Victor seems to, I’d easily be twice the size I am now, and I feel my face twist with that thought before I force it smooth again. “Ah, what would you like to eat now?”

His eyelids are still heavy with exhaustion, but he gives me a small smile. “As your _coach,_ ” he says with too much emphasis on the word, “I’d like to know what your favorite food is, Yuuri.”

Before I can try to make up a different favorite food — why would I want Victor to know my favorite food is _literally_ a 900-calorie bowl of deep-fried death — my mother overhears and informs Victor unhelpfully in Saga-ben Japanese that she’ll get started on his katsudon right away.

Victor blinked slowly, the sort of movement that lets you know that someone’s brain hasn’t fully engaged quite yet. “What is katsudon?”

“You’ll see,” I mumble. I know my mother meant well but I really don’t want Victor to think less of me for this. What kind of figure skater loves to eat fried foods? What kind of figure skater _actually eats it?_

He asks a few more questions that Minako answers. I start to tune them out as I can’t stop staring at Victor. He’s pulled the yukata back up which I feel a pang of regret about, but he has Makkachin on his lap now and my chest is too tight again but for an entirely different reason. Instead of mortification at the thought of Victor having seen the viral video, the reason is mortification that he’s actually here mixed with a shameful sense of arousal at his present state.

What I wouldn’t give to be able to see that smooth span of his shoulder again, to be able to let my fingertips graze over it, my lips trailing behind.

Or maybe let him do that to me. It’d be fun to feel him start that way, with the gentle caresses, before he moved into—

My mother comes back with the katsudon, and Victor’s face lights up when he sees what’s in the bowl. I quietly brace myself for the lecture I’m about to get.

“Is this katsudon?” Victor asks me, his eyes wide.

I nod. “It’s a fried pork cutlet, with some rice and…”

He’s already picked up the chopsticks and taken a piece of the pork. The look of transcendent joy that crosses his face at that first bite makes my heart skip a beat, and then he says, “Вкусно!”[1]

My mother looks over at me, helpless, and I murmur in Japanese, “I think he likes it,” because I've heard this phrase from Russian skaters before while eating.

Victor is gushing over my mother’s katsudon now, and out of the corner of my eye I can see Minako’s face turn calculating.

What is she—

“You know, Victor, Yuuri gains weight easily so he was only ever allowed to eat this when he won a competition.” She grins, and I regret ever trusting her to stay while Victor is here. I’d forgotten she was fluent in English, too. “Isn’t that right, Yuuri?”

So now Victor knows why I’m fat, he knows without a doubt that I have given up and let myself go. I have begun to try to reverse it but the opposite of _gains weight easily_ is _struggles to lose weight_ and it is an uphill battle I am fighting. An uphill battle with weights tied to my legs and my hands taped together. I am stumbling blindfolded through the dark, and I haven’t done as well as I would have liked.

Victor’s eyes flick between Minako and myself, and just like Minako I can see him measuring me up. “Oh? So… have you had this _recently_ , then?”

I freeze. Does he want the truth? Does he want me to agree with Minako? I open my mouth to speak and falter, then close it again. His eyes are piercing into mine, and I don’t know if I’ve ever stared into eyes so blue, and _I don’t know what he wants._

I furrow my brow before deciding to go for the truth, and when I speak it sounds much more careless than I’d intended. “Uh, yeah, I… I eat them all the time.”

“Why?” Victor demands, and I can tell I have made the wrong choice. “You haven’t won anything.”

I can’t breathe, and my hands grow cold. My heart is pounding in my chest.

“With that body of yours it would be useless to try to train right now. You need to get back to your weight at last year’s Grand Prix Final, at least, before I’ll really feel like coaching you.”

My stomach is churning now and every flaw on my body feels like it has flashing lights and bullhorns attached to it. I cross my arms over my stomach to try to hide the bulge and yank on my clothing for fear rolls are showing. I am disgusting. How could I ever deserve to have Victor coach me? I’ll never be good enough.

“So no more katsudon, поросенок. Okay?”

What did he call me? I furrow my brow at the sudden Russian in the middle of his English. I should be horrifically offended at this, that he would deem to walk into my house and immediately begin to insult me (I'm assuming), but I can’t seem to find it in me. I’m mostly dying because he saw me for what I truly am: a glutton unable to control myself. Someone who doesn’t care about himself. A failure. That’s what I am, a failure.

And yet I can’t tear my gaze away from his eyes, even as I feel myself dying.

“Hey, this luggage is in the way,” Mari calls from the entrance. Luggage? I haven’t been up to the front since I was going to shovel snow. Is there a lot of it out there now, enough to block the way?

Victor looks away from me and grins at Mari. “Ah, yes! Could you please move that to the room where I’ll be staying?”

My stomach drops. “S-staying?” I manage, after a couple seconds of staring blankly.

“Of course,” Victor says as if he hadn’t just stated both my wildest dream and my worst nightmare. “Where else would I stay if I’m going to be your coach? You’ll do better with me so close. I’ll be able to watch over you and help you succeed.”

So I end up moving an entire apartment’s worth of boxes into the empty banquet room down the hall from my bedroom. Victor helps a little, but I get the impression that I am doing the majority of the work.

This must be the first bit of training he’s going to put me through. As I set the last box down my muscles are screaming and my shirt is sticking to my back with sweat. I’ve been neglecting my strength training.

I’m trying to catch my breath when Victor speaks up. “Wow, this is such a tiny room! So classic!”

“I’m sorry it’s so small,” I say between labored breaths. I manage to turn my gaze up to Victor, still feeling all the while like I wasn’t entirely deserving of having him here as my coach. “All we had left was this unused banquet room.”

Victor meets my eyes and it’s as though I’m laid bare right there on the tatami floor of the banquet room. His eyes bore into mine like he’s plumbing the depths of my soul.

“You look anxious,” he says.

He has no idea.

Victor continues speaking without waiting for me to confirm or deny. “You can pay the coaching fee later, after you’ve won.”

Oh, God, his coaching fee. I didn’t even consider how much his coaching fee was going to cost. He would probably cost a fortune. Maybe I could persuade him to go lower because we were housing him and he’d never coached anyone before me. Maybe I could, I don’t know, work with him later as an assistant for reduced pay to pay him back.

I’d never be able to afford it otherwise.

“Thank you,” I murmur anyway, because it would be rude not to acknowledge this generosity.

“Yuuri,” Victor says, and the tone abruptly shifts. How does he do this, make me feel as though he’s picking me apart with only glances and words?

He sinks to his knees in front of me. “Tell me everything about you.”

He moves closer, tilts my chin up with his fingertips under my chin, forces me to make eye contact. “What kind of rink do you skate at?”

His face moves closer to mine, a breath away from kissing me. “What’s in this city?”

Oh, God, his eyes are so blue. His eyelashes… I never noticed those, either. Silver, just like his hair. They brush his skin when he blinks. His voice is low and sultry as he continues. “Do you have anyone you’re dating? That you’re interested in?”

He lets his other hand trail down my arm to my hand and wraps his fingers around my wrist for a moment before he picks up my hand. He laces his fingers through mine and I’m positive that my heart is about to pound right out of my chest. My ribcage certainly can't contain it with how hard it's beating. “Before we start practicing, let’s build some trust in our… relationship.”

He can’t be—

No, there’s no way he means that. He means… he means coaching, right? The coaching relationship?

But he’s holding my hand, and he’s got his fingers under my chin, and the way he’s looking in my eyes I would do _anything_ he wanted, down to licking his skates clean if he asked, and it _terrifies_ me.

I yank my hand out of his and scramble back as fast as I can until I hit the wall outside the room. My bedroom is to my right. I can easily go there and hide.

Victor looks… hurt? I furrow my brow as I try to read his expression. He opens his mouth, then closes it and takes a deep breath, then says, “Why are you running away?”

Could he not tell how badly he flustered me? How absolutely nerve-shattering it is to have a man you have masturbated to the thought of _more than once_ within the last month staring you in the eye and asking about your romantic prospects in the most seductive tone you’ve ever heard?

I can’t bring myself to answer that question honestly, so I mumble, “No… no reason.”

Victor nods, and turns to scratch Makkachin’s ears. I have to get out of here before I step in it again. I can’t let him see me flustered like this, I have to get it together. I push myself up to my feet and dust off my pants then clear my throat. “I’m going to, ah, go… to bed.” I glance over at my bedroom door, then back at Victor before bowing. “Excuse me.”

I don’t wait for him to reply before I walk down the hall to lock myself in my bedroom.

I turn to put my back against the door and slide down to hug my knees. What was Victor trying to do back there? Was he… did he know…

With a heavy sigh, I drop my forehead against my knees. I am weak in general, but I am especially weak to Victor. It’s as though I haven’t been able to take a full breath the whole time I’ve been in his presence. It’s as though I was pushed into the ocean, and Victor is the weight tied to my ankle that keeps dragging me down each time I crest my head above the waves.

I don’t know what I’m going to do. How can I train with Victor if this is how I’m going to feel the whole time? I lift my head again and stare at the posters on my walls. I could never have imagined that I would have him here in my house, willing to coach _me_ in figure—

“Yuuri!” Victor cries as he knocks on my door.

Oh no. I freeze like a rabbit in front of a wolf, and wonder if he thinks I’m asleep yet.

He knocks again. “Yuuri, let’s sleep together! I still need to learn so much more about you in order to be the best _coach_!”

There he goes again, using too much emphasis on that word. Somehow I feel like he means—

The posters! I push up from the ground and choke out, “Just a minute!”

I rush around the room, pulling each poster down as fast as I can. A corner rips off one of them and I can’t stop the strangled cry that slips out. This was the Junior Worlds poster from his last year before Seniors! I can’t replace this!

Victor knocks again. “Yuuri, is everything alright?”

“Everything’s fine!” I cry in response, and finish taking down the rest of the posters.

I look down at the stacked posters in my hands in wonder. I still can’t believe he’s here. I’ve looked up to him for more than ten years, and he’s _here._ It’s surreal, and the culmination of every impossible dream I’ve ever had for the last decade of my life.

Once more Victor knocks, and I snap back to the present. Where am I going to hide the posters? I can’t let Victor see these.

I settle on shoving them under my mattress. I need to remember to move them before I actually go to bed, because otherwise they’ll get damaged by my bed frame. Once I’m sure you can’t tell I moved the mattress, I open the door to let Victor in.

He’s still wearing the yukata, which I’m actually kind of glad for, because it gives me the possibility of seeing more of his skin.

Victor closes the door behind him, and I almost feel cornered. Part of me is appalled to find that I’m enjoying the sensation.

“Yuuri,” Victor says, his gaze locked with mine. “You kept me waiting.”

I try to speak and fail. My breath has caught in my throat and refuses to come forth to make a sound. I clear my throat and try again. “I’m sorry. I had to straighten up first.”

Victor steps closer, and I’m reminded again of a predatory animal, but where Minako was lithe and feline, Victor is more like a wolf. Again, I am enjoying the feel of being hunted even as my brain is screaming that I shouldn’t.

“Why couldn’t I see your room as it was?”

My voice is much softer when I manage to speak again. “I was embarrassed.”

“Yuuri.” Victor’s voice is a purr now. “Listen. I want to know you. All of you. Not some sanitized or edited version. I want to know _you._ There’s no way we can build our relationship otherwise.” He stops an arm’s reach away from me, and one corner of his lips tips up in a smile. “I can see that you seem to be interested in that, too.”

I was really hoping Victor wouldn’t be able to tell I was aroused by this, but I suppose he could’ve gotten a good look at me as he got closer. “I… I wouldn’t be opposed.”

The other side of Victor’s mouth quirks up into a broad grin. “So, what would you say if I suggested we could do more than just… figure skating training?”

I furrow my brow and shake my head the smallest amount. He definitely isn’t talking about the coaching relationship, but I don’t dare let myself grow hopeful. “I’m not sure what you mean.” I want to take another step backwards but my bed isn’t far behind me, and I don’t want to land on the posters.

“I mean that I can tell that you are attracted to me, and I am attracted to you. This much is obvious.”

The silence draws out between us as I try to parse his utter lack of lead-up to this declaration. “I… yes, all right, you’re right.”

“I was thinking, Yuuri, that we could… explore. Test your endurance.”

I still don’t know exactly what he means, but deep in my soul, I have never wanted anything more in my entire life than I have wanted this right now. I open my mouth to speak but my mouth is too dry. I swallow hard. “What… sort of endurance?”

“Well, you’re known for your stamina, aren’t you?” Victor still has that smile on his face, part teasing, part flirting, part secretive. “Have you ever considered applying that _sexually_?”

I sidestep enough to avoid sitting on the posters and sink onto the bed. I take another deep breath, and my heart is pounding in my chest. It feels a lot like when my anxiety ramps up, but this… there’s a different thrill here, with Victor speaking some of my deepest desires out loud. “I… uh, yeah, I have.” I stop and blink. “I’ve never actually told anyone that before.”

It feels good to say it out loud to Victor, for some reason. I really thought I’d have wanted to die admitting that, after all the times I’ve imagined it. Every time I’ve considered telling someone, like Phichit, I’ve locked down. The words have always refused to come. I don’t know how Victor knows what I have always wanted, how he is able to speak what I’ve dreamed of into existence between us, but I’m glad he does.

“I’m interested in this too,” Victor says. “I’ve toyed with it before, but I’ve never cared about my… _charge_ like I think I’ll care about you.”

He steps forward and starts to sit next to me, and I put out a hand to stop him. “Wait! We… we can move!”

Victor stops mid-crouch, his brows pulling together, the left one barely peeking out from under that shock of silver hair. “What's wrong with me sitting right here?”

I stand up and move to the head of the bed instead of the foot, and pull him down next to me there. I imagine I might have heard a poster crinkle and I wince, but I hope the damage is better than letting him sit on the full stack might have been.

“What was that?”

I shake my head. “Nothing! It was nothing.” I clear my throat again, and pray that my heart pounding isn't audible here in my room. “You said you've toyed with… with what?”

“Games of control,” Victor says, as though it were as simple as breathing.

I think back to the phrase I have always imagined Victor scolding me with during my fantasies. _You don't get to control how this goes, pet._

Now that he's here, now that he's spoken to me more directly, I see that I never imagined the tone right. I apply this newfound knowledge to how I imagined he'd say it, and I shiver.

Victor pitches his voice low, lower than it had been before. “You like that idea.”

“I do,” I whisper as I shift positions on the bed to try to hide the way my thin workout pants are tenting.

“Don't hide it,” Victor murmurs as he places a hand on my thigh. He leans in, though he doesn't seem to want to kiss me.

If I thought I felt cornered before, that is nothing compared to how I feel now. I can feel my pulse pounding in my ears, can _hear_ my pulse pounding in my ears. My breath is coming quick and shallow and there is nothing I want to do more than close this gap. But does he want to? He hasn't made any move like he wants to, so what am I supposed to do? Will I get in trouble? I might get in trouble, right?

I twitch forward and freeze millimeters before my lips touch his. _You don't get to control how this goes._

He hadn't really said that, had he? I had only imagined that, right?

“Well done,” Victor murmurs.

No, I hadn't imagined that. My eyes snap open, and while Victor’s expression is hard, I can see some amusement with a touch of pride in his eyes.

My first test, and I passed.

Victor gently squeezes my thigh and stands up. The poster crinkles again and he glances down at the bed, but says nothing about it. “Do you have any questions?”

“Have we already started?” I manage to choke out through the rush of blood pounding in _both_ of my heads.

“Do you want to?”

I can't make the words come, but God, yes, I want this. I nod once, so hard I feel my glasses lift off my nose for a split second.

“Say it, Yuuri.”

Oh, God. I open my mouth and have to try about three times before I make the word come out. “Yes.”

Victor cants his head to the side slightly, a smile quirking at his lips again. “Yes…?”

My cheeks flush with the error. Of course I'd have to ask properly. My voice is still barely above a whisper as I say, “Yes, please.”

“Well done,” Victor says again. He bends to place a soft kiss to the top of my head, and lets his fingertips graze my cheek as he stands up again. “Will you be all right tonight?”

I nod.

“I'll be down the hall if you need me,” Victor says, his voice still soft, but gentle now. “I mean that. If you need _anything_ from me, I'll be down there.”

Again, I nod. I don't know why I'd need him, but he's making it sound so important. “Thank you.”

He nods as well, and turns to leave my room.

As my door clicks shut behind him, I slide down off my bed to the floor, then turn back to the mattress. I lift it and pull the posters out, and sigh as I find another tear in another poster from Victor sitting on the bed. Thankfully this one isn't as severe as the rip on the Junior Worlds poster, so it'll be easily fixed, but still.

I set the posters aside and lean back against the bed. I'm still furiously hard, and my breath is still coming faster than usual. Victor has certainly left me wound up.

Ah well. I've got my hand and a good imagination. I'll have to make sure I'm _very_ quiet tonight.

* * *

I am going to die. Victor has decided that my daily jog to the Ice Castle isn’t enough exercise, and he is riding a bike in front of me. I’m practically sprinting to keep up with him. I’m going to drop dead when we arrive, if I don’t before we get there.

As he rides and I die behind him, Victor calls out with all his natural enthusiasm to greet everyone we pass. They all humor him and respond even though his pronunciation of こんにちは and おはよう[2] is _atrocious._ I can’t even spare the breath to say anything, and nobody tries to address me, either.

I wouldn’t talk to me, either, truthfully. I probably look pathetic. I can _feel_ the way my body is moving, how my stomach bounces and my thighs quake with each footfall. Under my training jacket, my shirt is dragging across my sweat-slicked back with every pump of my arms. I feel disgusting.

Logically I know it’s only a few blocks to the Ice Castle from the ryokan. I know this because I have made this journey many times over the course of my life. It feels, though, like Victor is dragging me over half of Hasetsu instead of heading directly for the Ice Castle.

When we arrive I am hunched over gasping for air while Victor goes ahead of me to speak to the Nishigoris. I can’t hear exactly what they say while I’m actively trying to die in the lobby of the Ice Castle, but I can tell the triplets are far more excited now. He must have introduced himself.

I guess I should be glad I wasn’t allowed to bring my skates with me since it meant I had less to carry, though I’m unsure as to how I could possibly be effectively coached without skating. It really isn’t _that_ long until the competition season starts up again, and I don’t even have music picked out, much less choreography to begin learning.

Even still, I stand awkwardly next to Victor as he laces his own skates up, and he heads in to the rink with me following behind like some obedient puppy. Before he steps out onto the ice, he hands me a CD. “Please play this, Yuuri.”

I nod and walk over to the CD player sitting by the side of the rink. Yuuko and the triplets have followed us out here — because of course they have — and they watch Victor take a few laps around the outside edge of the rink while I cue the music.

“Victor, the music is ready,” I call, and he comes to a stop in the center of the rink. He assumes a pose—

I realize what he’s about to do at the same time the girls do, and we all gasp in unison.

One of the triplets — I think it was Axel, though I still haven’t learned to tell them apart reliably yet — starts to exclaim something, and Yuuko shushes her. I push play on the CD player and as the music starts up, Victor begins last season’s free skate routine. It’s breathtaking in person, just like it was at the Grand Prix Final, but he’s somehow managed to improve even more even since Worlds. I don’t know how, but he did it.

We all fall under Victor’s spell, our eyes glued to him as he skates the routine as flawlessly as he did setting world records with it a scant few weeks earlier. Yuuko makes small cries and exclamations, tears brimming in her eyes, as she narrates his program components. Of course, the triplets have started recording and photographing Victor, and I can _tell_ they plan to do the same thing to him they did to me.

“This is _not_ to be uploaded anywhere,” I say just loud enough to be heard over the music. “This is private. Do you understand me?”

Their faces fall, but Axel, Lutz, and Loop nod. “We understand,” they say in unison, in that way only identical triplets could.

“Is he really going to coach you?” Nishigori asks as he comes up to my other side. “I can’t believe it.”

I can’t help but chuckle, because I still can’t fully accept it as reality either. “Yeah, it’s true. He says he’d like to use this as our home rink for now. Is that…” I glance over at Nishigori and take a deep breath. I’ll never know if I don’t ask, and Victor trusts me to do this since I know them the best. “Is that okay?”

Nishigori’s grin grows wide and bright again. “Yeah, it is! I’ll talk to the management but I’m pretty sure this will only do amazing things for the rink. _Everyone_ is going to want to skate here when they find out they might run into Victor Nikiforov doing it.”

His smile softens and he drapes an arm over my shoulder while we watch Victor work through the routine. “It’s a dream come true, isn’t it? To have Victor himself coaching you?”

All the thoughts I’ve had about Victor over the last eleven years springs to mind. Every time I’ve ever dreamed of being able to spend time with Victor, every time I’ve mimicked one of his shows to try to learn something new, every time I’ve tried to even _catch up_ to him. I mull that over, and then I smile as well. “Yeah, it is.”

We watch again as Victor dazzles us with a step sequence. There’s no way I did that as beautifully as Victor just did. There’s no way I could have _possibly_ inspired him. Not with this mental weakness. Not with this body.

Nishigori takes a breath to say something else, but then we hear Victor’s voice echoing over the music. “The little поросенок can’t get into the rink until he drops some more weight!”

I go rigid against Nishigori, and he frowns at me as he drops his arm. “You okay?”

Поросенок. Piglet. I'd looked it up.

Every time someone comments on my body the mental warfare starts anew. Can’t anyone tell that I am _already_ hating myself enough for everyone around me? Isn’t it obvious that I don’t need any help with the loathing? I already know I’m revolting. I don’t need the constant reminders.

“I’m gonna go,” I murmur. “Let Victor know I went to Minako’s.” I turn and walk away from the rink without saying another word.

I don’t even hear Victor protest as I leave, which means I timed it well. I don’t want to be here while Victor is skating, while I’m not allowed out on the ice. I’d rather go dance.

After stopping back at the ryokan to quickly wash myself and pick up my dance gear, I walk over to Minako’s ballet studio. She greets me at the door with a smile, already in her own dance clothes, as though she had been expecting me to show up with my own things in hand and ready to dance.

Then again, she probably had been expecting me. I always either went to the rink or here when everything got to be too much, and with Victor at the rink, this is my last sanctuary.

Minako doesn’t ask any questions, simply launches into running me through dance routines as soon as I’ve changed. She knows why I’m here and what I need. Once I’m pouring sweat again, bent over and holding onto the barre, Minako finally breaks the silence.

“Do you think he’s just using this as an excuse to take a break from skating?”

I glance over at her, still panting hard, and gasp between desperate breaths, “Don’t say that, please.” I straighten up and swipe the back of my hand across my forehead. It doesn’t do much to get rid of the sweat there, since my arm is sweaty too. “I mean… I’ve thought that, too. Like I’m kind of a convenient excuse. A reason to leave the skating and Russia behind.”

Because there’s no real reason for Victor to come all the way to Japan to coach me. I am not remarkable.

“You decided to keep skating though, right?” Minako has a wide grin now, far too excited for how I’m feeling right now. “You have to take advantage of this. He came here to coach you, and you can’t let this opportunity pass you by! Come on, Yuuri, get to work. You’ve got to slim down so he can be your coach!”

So Minako puts me through an intense few hours of dancing, and I go back to the studio every day she’s available, and Victor works with me when she isn’t.

There’s a staircase leading to a beautiful overlook that Victor loves to view the ocean from, and Victor also loves to make me run up all those stairs. It’s a struggle, but I can do it without stopping now, and once we arrive he puts me to work using the benches as exercise equipment.

I’m in the middle of a set of advanced bench leg step up jumps when Victor breaks into my focus. “So do you have feelings for Minako?”

I choke and drop down onto the bench next to Victor. “No! Absolutely not! She’s like a second mom to me!”

“So you’re not seeing anyone, then? I figured you probably weren’t, since you were… receptive to our discussion, but…”

I furrow my brow and shift on the bench. With a grimace, I say, “No, I’m not seeing anyone.”

“How about in your past?” Victor grins and leans closer. “Have you ever dated anyone before?”

My mind flashes back to the burning teenage crush on Yuuko that never went anywhere.

It also goes back to the less-frantic, more slow-burn crush on Phichit I couldn’t bring myself to really act on, either. I mean, we made out a few times, and there was that one time we gave each other awkward hand jobs in the dark, piled together into his bed. My anxiety got out of control, though, and I was terrified that I’d ruin the only friendship I had in Detroit. I never talked about it again, and neither did he. It’s a testament to how good a person Phichit is that my fuckup _didn’t_ ruin our friendship.

I think of Victor himself, and how much I would give to be able to say I was dating him.

And yet, for all of these crushes, I’ve never actually _dated_ anyone. I swallow down my nervousness about Victor knowing that I don’t know what I’m doing.

“No comment,” I mumble, as I try to lean back from him.

His face brightens then, and I feel an uncomfortable sense of dread, even though I know it’s unfounded. “Let’s talk about me, then! I had my first—“

“Please, stop!” I yell. I don’t want to know who else has touched Victor. I don’t want to know what they’ve done, or where they did it. I don’t want to know. I want to imagine it’s me. I want to pretend I’m his first, that his sentence ends with me. I want to pretend I’m not some third-rate option, that I’m not some opportunity he’s taking out of desperation because he’s run out of other choices. I want to pretend that I matter to him and that I’m not just some easy fuck, another notch to add to his bedpost.

Not that Victor would have struggled to convince me to be simply another conquest.

My stomach roils with this conclusion, and that overwhelming sense of disgust comes in again. Of course I’d let Victor do that, because I’m _that desperate._ Of course I’d let Victor be my first, only for him to up and leave again. I’d let him use me, and I’d like it.

Makkachin barks from behind us, and we both turn to look. It seems he was barking at nothing in particular, maybe a bird flying or a leaf blowing by.

“Yuuri,” Victor says, his eyes moving up past Makkachin. “What’s that castle over there?”

Hasetsu Castle has been a fixture on the horizon for my entire life. I never paid it much mind. I learned about it when I was young and thought it was cool, but now at twenty-three it’s just another thing in my tiny little town.

“Oh, uh, that’s Hasetsu Castle. It’s… it’s not really a castle. Like there’s no historical basis for it. But there’s a ninja house inside.”

Victor’s eyes go wide and he gets this childlike look of wonder on his face. “Really?! Ninjas?!”

It’s kind of cute, really; I’ve never really spent any time with a foreigner outside of the ryokan so I’ve never been able to enjoy this sort of reaction up close.

He pulls his phone out of his pocket and presses it into my hands. “Take a picture of Makkachin and me in front of it!”

The interface is in Russian and I’m _very_ glad we both have iPhones, because at least all the icons are the same. I get Instagram open and Victor poses, an arm slung around Makkachin’s neck, the other held up to make a V with his fingers. He smiles, a wide grin I don’t think I’ve ever seen in any picture of him, even on social media, and says, “Hasetsu Castle!”

He takes the phone back and I watch over his shoulder as he posts the picture, geotagging it as _Hasetsu, Saga_ and adding _#ninja_ to the post.

* * *

My body is screaming as I pull myself up for another sit-up. I don't even know what time it is, or when I started working out this morning, all I know is that sweat is pouring down my body and I feel like I could sleep for a week, if the ache deep in my muscles would let me.

I fall back against the bench and stare at the ceiling and will my heart to slow down while I catch my breath. I've been working so hard for weeks and it shows; my shirts hang more loosely now and I've had to adjust the drawstrings on my athletic pants multiple times. With this long at this level of work, I should be close to having dropped enough weight for Victor to let me onto the ice.

“Hey, Yuuri, you've been working for a while,” Minako says from next to me, her voice gentle. “You really should take a break.”

I climb off the bench, still panting, and check the time on my phone. “I should probably go home, actually,” I say between gasping breaths. “I don't want to hurt myself.”

Minako nods. “That's a good idea. Make sure you take care of yourself tonight. Maybe take a nice long soak in the onsen?”

That sounds absolutely heavenly, and it would go a long way toward helping with my goal of sleeping as long as physically possible tonight. “I think I will. I'm going to cool down and stretch, and then I'll be off. I'll see you tomorrow, Minako.”

“See you then. My classes end at five. I’ll wait for you.” Minako gives me a smile, squeezes my shoulder gently, and turns to go back into the main room of her dance studio.

I take my time with my cool down and stretch, and then begin the trek home to the ryokan. I can't even summon up the energy to run, which is good; it means I've worked myself hard today. I'm actually starving, as my growling stomach informs me halfway home, and I'm actually a little disappointed to realize I'll be made to eat mostly vegetables and rice again.

Maybe today I can talk my mother into sautéing me some pork instead of chicken to go with it. It's not katsudon, but it's close.

By the time I get home to the ryokan I feel as though I have 10-kilo weights attached to every limb. I stop at the genkan to take my sneakers off and have to take a moment to stare at the step up before I can even bring myself to lift a leg to cross over the threshold.

I need a bath badly but part of me considers simply falling into bed in my sweaty workout clothes. I could wash the sheets tomorrow, right? That wouldn’t be so bad.

The grimy feel of my skin under my sweaty clothes reminds me that maybe that wouldn’t be such a good idea.

With a sigh I drag myself to the bathing area and begin to bathe.

A long soak in the onsen, where I nearly fell asleep at least three times, was everything I needed to help all my muscles unwind, and now Victor greets me as I’m eating my dinner.

I was unable to convince my mother to cook pork for me. Apparently Victor has been very strict about this.

“Good evening, Yuuri,” Victor says. He settles in directly across from me, a small smile on his face.

“Hello, Victor,” I murmur before picking up a piece of broccoli with my chopsticks. “How was your day at the Ice Palace?”

He keeps his voice even as he replies. “It went well. And yours at the dance studio?”

I laugh around my mouthful of food, then swallow it before speaking. “I nearly drowned in the onsen from how tired I was. I think it went well.”

“Yuuri, you should be more careful,” Victor says. “I didn’t come all the way here for you to drown before I even got a chance to see you skate up close.”

I feel my face flush and I decide to focus on my dinner instead of responding to that. Had he truly taken my hyperbole seriously?

“Or the chance for us to act on our agreement.”

I nearly choke on my rice. I’d almost forgotten about that, in this flurry of constant exercise. Of course. We’d talked and agreed that Victor wouldn’t only be my coach while he was here. Somehow I expected that he’d bring it up again in a more… secluded environment, not here in the middle of me eating dinner where my family could have heard.

Victor raises an eyebrow, and drops his voice down so low _I_ can barely hear him. “Don’t worry. They didn’t hear me. And even if they did, wouldn’t they simply assume we meant the coaching relationship?”

I think this over for a moment, then nod. That’s true. He hadn’t said anything to make it sound sexual. It would be easy enough to wave away suggestions of anything else.

With a wicked grin, Victor murmurs, “They won’t have any idea just how easy it’ll be to make you get on your knees in front of me.”

This time, I _do_ choke on my rice, sputtering and coughing as I try to collect myself. Victor sits patiently, silently, while he waits for me to get everything under control again. When I’m finally breathing normally, I look at Victor in desperation. “Someone could hear you.”

“And that bothers you? What are you afraid of, that someone will know you’re desperate for someone to control you?”

My eyes go wide and my breath catches in my throat. We hadn’t talked about that, had we? I hadn’t confessed that to him, and yet he was right. That was _exactly_ what I wanted.

Then again, when Victor had praised me for not kissing him without permission, I remember how good that had felt. I want that again. I want more of it. I want Victor to praise me when I do well, and chastise me when I don't.

It's as though I'm singing for him from the cage he himself put me in.

I set my chopsticks down with shaking hands, but I can’t bring myself to look him in the eye. “Yes.”

Victor’s voice is still low and measured, still only loud enough to carry across the table to me. “Yes, you’re afraid, or yes, you want it?”

I swallow hard, my eyes still trained on the table in front of me. “Yes, I want it.”

“Come, Yuuri, you need your rest after how hard you worked today,” Victor says, louder now. The volume increase wasn’t enough to be out of the ordinary, it could easily have come across as just a coach being concerned for the athlete he’s in charge of, but _I_ notice the change.

I push myself up to standing and clear my place at the table, then turn to follow Victor back to the hallway both our rooms are set off from.

Victor pauses just outside the banquet room, a hand on the door, then turns to me. “I think, Yuuri, that your room is likely a better option for this.”

The walls aren’t _much_ thicker in my room, but they’re not literal paper, and so I nod agreement and lead him to the end of the hallway, where my bedroom waits. I close the door behind us after we enter, and draw a shaky breath as I turn to face Victor again.

“Why are you nervous, Yuuri?” Victor murmurs. “Do you not trust me?”

I swallow hard, my hand quivering on the doorknob. “I do.”

Victor steps forward and takes my hands in his, then squeezes gently. “Listen to me: we are not playing right now. Right here, between us, this is laying down ground rules. Do you understand me?”

Ground rules? Hadn’t we done that before? Maybe this is just going to be review. After all, we talked about what we were going to do, right? I draw a breath and nod. “I understand.”

“First of all, if you don’t like anything I do to you, you have the right to stop me. I don’t care why, I don’t care what your reason is. If you don’t like it for whatever reason, we stop immediately. I will not resent you. Your safety is the most important thing.” Victor squeezes my hands as he stares into my eyes. “Do you understand? _Anything._ You can stop it for _anything._ ”

I was always under the impression that the person in control got to decide when everything was done, and I’m honestly a little surprised by this conversation. “I— I understand.”

Victor searches my face, his brow furrowed. “I mean it, Yuuri. _You_ have the power to end it whenever you need. I don’t care if it’s because your nose itches. You say the word, and it stops.”

The word. Oh, he means a safe word. Nights spent scrolling through websites long after Phichit fell asleep — not even porn, just sites about the lifestyle — come flooding back to me, and I suddenly feel very silly for not having remembered that critical part of any relationship like the one Victor and I are setting ground rules for.

I nod, more sure of my response this time. “I understand.”

“And what do you want your safe word to be? A lot of times people will go with a standard green/yellow/red setup, which we can do; if I check in and you answer green I’ll continue, if you say yellow I’ll slow down or make sure everything is okay, and if you say red it stops immediately.”

I purse my lips in thought. I’d never considered before what kind of safe word I might want to use. I never imagined I’d find myself in this situation, especially not with Victor, so it’d never been worthy of thought. The idea of being able to give a slow down signal is also appealing to me, which I hadn’t known would be a possibility before. I nod again. “That’s perfect.”

“Tell me what they are,” Victor says, his voice measured, as though a mask is starting to slip into place.

My heart skips with the tone of his words. “Green to continue, yellow to slow down, red to stop.”

Victor lets go of one of my hands to cup his palm to my cheek. The feel of his fingertips against my scalp knocks a shaky breath from my lungs, and I cannot tear my gaze away from his eyes.

He rubs his thumb against my cheek as he says, “It’s important, too, to talk about what we want to do before we begin. Do you have anything in particular you’ve always wanted to try?”

It’s as though every fantasy I’ve ever had comes rushing back at once, with the one thing I always imagine at the forefront: Victor’s lips, Victor’s teeth, sucking and biting, with marks of varying shades left behind.

My breath is fast and shallow, and imagining Victor actually doing it to me makes it hitch. I flick my tongue out to wet my lips, which are too dry now, and whisper, “I… want you to— to mark me.”

“Mark you? You mean…” Victor presses the fingertips of his opposite hand to his lips, then to the side of my neck. “Here?”

I close my eyes and swallow hard, then wet my lips once more. “Yes, please.”

Victor’s voice is still gentle, though it definitely has that edge that came in when we discussed the safe word. “Look at me, Yuuri.”

It takes me a moment to draw another steadying breath, then I open my eyes and look at Victor again. His eyes draw me in immediately, and I would gladly stay lost in them forever as long as he never stopped touching me.

“That’s what you want from me today?” Victor takes advantage of my eyes going straight to his, and holds my gaze.

“Yes, please,” I say, though the sound is barely above a whisper.

He cants his head to the side, and a small smile appears on his lips. He draws his hand away from my cheek and I can still feel the warmth lingering, as though he’d been holding a brand there instead of his own flesh. “I think I’d like that, too. I want to enjoy your whole body, and if I could leave those marks in other places — with your permission, of course — I think we can both get what we want out of this.”

Embarrassingly, my breath hitches again, and I feel my cock jerk in my pants. Victor wants to touch _all of me_ . I should feel repulsed by this, but all I can find is _want_. My heart is hammering within my ribs as I nod.

“Words, Yuuri,” Victor murmurs.

I close my eyes for a moment with the gentle rebuke. “Yes, _please._ ” Before he can give me another reminder, I open my eyes again and meet his gaze immediately.

He leans closer and murmurs, “Are you ready to begin?”

“Yes,” I say, and I’m actually surprised by how breathy my voice is. I can hear the need I feel so acutely, and Victor smiles at me, his head tipping forward to obscure his eyes behind that shock of silver hair, and that feeling trebles.

I draw another shaky breath but before I can say anything else he kisses me, and that breath isn’t enough. Nothing is enough. I am drowning in him. I bring my hands up to his shoulders and without breaking the kiss, he marches me back the half step to put my back to the door. He takes my wrists in his hands, and presses them against the door to either side of my head. The pressure of his grip on my arms leaves my knees weak, and I’m suddenly glad for the support behind me.

He strokes his tongue against my lips and I part them for him without thought. It takes me a few moments after he slides his tongue into my mouth before I realize I should respond instead of simply receiving the kiss, and as I do so he lets out a soft moan.

I don’t know exactly what I want — I want him to keep kissing me, but I haven’t been able to get the thought of him marking me out of my mind since we brought up the topic in the first place. I clench my hands uselessly above his grip on my wrists, and I don’t even try to stop myself from rocking my hips forward into the air. When he slides a thigh between mine, pressing his body against me, I groan against his mouth and grind my hips harder. It feels amazing, and I’m positive that if he let me, I’d come right here doing just that.

That isn’t what I want, though, and I try to draw back the kiss with a whine.

“Not enough?” Victor murmurs against my mouth.

I shake my head as I flick my tongue out over my lips, and suppress a moan at tasting Victor. “No. Please… more.”

I can hear the smile as easily as I can feel it with how he’s still pressed against me. “Did you want me to mark you now, then?”

 _Words, Yuuri._ Victor’s prior command echoes through my mind, and I draw another breath to force myself to speak.

“Yes. Please… please mark me.”

Victor steps back again and I feel so empty now without that pressure against my cock, but then he lets go of one of my wrists and uses his grip on the other to lead me forward toward my bed. I have a vague thought that it’ll be hard to fit the both of us on my single bed, but once we arrive and Victor pushes me down onto it that worry dissipates into nothing but need. I need Victor to kiss me, to touch me, to strip me. To mark me. I need Victor to leave the proof of his touch on my body. I need all of that and more.

I feel exposed laid out on my bed with Victor above me, but I can see the need echoed in his own expression and he murmurs, “You’re so beautiful, игрушка моя.”

Again the sudden Russian throws me off, and I start to furrow my brow when he climbs up onto the bed and straddles my hips. A question dies on my lips as he bends to kiss me again. I only hope I can remember to ask him later what that means.

He doesn’t linger this time, not like he did when we were standing against my door. He immediately begins to trail the kisses across my cheek to my jaw and I shiver. The first brush of his lips against my neck draws a low moan from me, and I reach forward to wrap my arms around him.

As my hands brush his shoulders he sits up, and I freeze. I’ve made an error, though I can tell from his expression that I’m not _actually_ in trouble. He reaches down to take my wrists, and places them on the bed next to my head. “Yuuri, I want you to leave your hands there. Do not touch me again until I give you permission to.”

My breath catches and I know he can feel the fact that my cock just jerked again, pressing up against his ass all on its own with no consideration for how he might feel about it.

Victor grins, and I know that’s what he’s smiling about because he rolls his hips against me with slow, deliberate, torturous precision.

I close my eyes and moan, and clench my hands into fists for a moment before relaxing them. When Victor shifts it draws another gasp and moan from me, and then his lips are on my jaw again, working their way down my neck. I tip my chin up to make room for him, and I can feel my heart hammering in my ribs. Victor lets his lips linger over the pulse pounding in my neck, and it has become a struggle to control the pace of my breathing.

Under all of it, I just want to _touch him_. My palms tingle with the need to feel him. I clench my fists again, willing the feel of my fingernails digging into my hands to draw me back from that precipice.

Victor places one last kiss on my neck, then I feel the position of his mouth change. He sucks hard on my skin, and I feel his teeth involved once he gets enough of my flesh pulled into his mouth. The suction prickles, on the knife’s edge of pain, and I give up any pretense of controlling the pace of my breathing at all.

He backs off before it becomes too much, and I find I’m panting for breath. The spot where he’d been still stings, but it’s beginning to settle into a pleasant ache and I hope that I can still feel them in the morning, even if I have to press on them to refresh the feeling.

I realize Victor hasn’t moved since he pulled back, and I blink as I try to read his face. I can’t decipher what his expression means, until he braces his weight on his right hand, then lifts his left to brush against the mark on the right side of my neck.

“You were made for this, игрушка моя. Made for me to make you mine.” He grins as he presses in, eliciting a gasp from me. “You look beautiful with my mark on your neck.”

 _Made for this._ It’s everything I’ve ever wanted. My breath catches, and I have my hands halfway to Victor before I realize what I’m doing and slam back them back down onto the mattress.

Victor smiles, then cups his hand to my cheek again for a moment. “Well done,” he murmurs.

I flick my tongue out to wet my lips again and groan as his movement to bend down to my neck presses him against my cock. Victor stays on the same side of my neck though he seems to move lower, closer to the collar of my shirt. He repeats the process of sucking hard on the skin, and based on how the prickle crosses the line into discomfort, this mark will be _spectacular._

He doesn’t give me a break this time before he moves once more. This time he actually takes the collar of my shirt aside to place the mark directly at the base of my neck where it meets my shoulder. The spot he’s selected is _very_ sensitive and I clench my jaw. It’s uncomfortable, sure, but… I like it. It’s like what I’ve always imagined, how the pain will escalate the pleasure. My neck may hurt right now, but it’s making that pressure of Victor’s body against my cock feel _that much better_.

Victor draws back and my eyes snap open. I open my mouth to ask why he stopped, but he interrupts me.

“I just want to make sure you’re all right. You seemed tense.”

“I’m fine,” I say, but then I remember the words we worked out. “Uh… green.”

Victor smiles with me using the word, and he dips back down to finish what he’d started. With the gap between the first time he’d started marking me and now, the feeling has intensified. The already sensitive spot doesn’t so much prickle as it does burn now, and I suck in a quick hiss through my teeth.

“Yellow,” I mutter, and as promised Victor immediately pulls back the intensity. Instead of the hard sucking and nipping, he simply presses kisses against the third mark instead. It’s still tender and there will absolutely be another mark here, but won’t be as dark or intense as either of the first two.

“I want to feel your skin,” Victor whispers into my ear. “Can I take off your shirt?”

I hesitate for a moment. Do I really want to let Victor see me? I haven’t even been willing to get into the onsen with him around. I’ve been using them my whole life so public nudity isn’t truly all that big a deal, but for some reason the idea of _Victor_ seeing me without clothing is abhorrent to me.

Victor sits back and drags his hands down the front of my body, to the hem of my shirt. He lets his fingertips dip under the hem, though he doesn’t go far enough to touch my skin. “Please, Yuuri?”

I’m torn. I want to feel him. I want him to touch me, I want him to take off his shirt and let me feel him, too. But at the same time, I’m just barely above the weight requirement he placed on me, and I know the dark red stretch marks cover my lower stomach.

I wonder how quickly he’ll run away once he sees what I look like. I also wonder how quickly he’ll run away if I don't let him see. I take a deep breath, and stare into his eyes for some measure of reassurance, some ounce of bravery I can take to allow him to look at me, to really see me.

There it is, that quiet strength he always has simmering below the surface. I get the feeling he wouldn't let me break this eye contact even if I tried, and so I take another deep breath for reassurance. “Yes,” I say, though I know I don't sound very confident.

“You've done well with the words so far,” Victor whispers as he lets his fingers crawl up my bare stomach. “Remember that you can use any of them for any reason.”

His fingers tickle even as I hunger for more, and I end up tensing my stomach to draw back from the feeling even as I crave it. I nod in acknowledgement of his reminder about the safe word. I know this. He proved it already. I can trust him with this.

Abruptly, Victor switches from simply running his fingertips across my stomach to shoving my shirt up to my armpits, laying me completely bare in front of him. I gasp and lift my hands without thought, and grab the hem of my shirt before my brain catches up to me.

Oh, no.

Victor freezes, his hands resting over my nipples, and his eyes narrow slightly. “Yuuri, what did I say?”

My eyes are wide and I stare up at Victor with my mouth hanging open. I release the hem and drop my hands back down to the bed. “I… I’m sorry!” My face crumples as I apologize, my hands clenching against the mattress. I am humiliated to have made the error, right when I've finally gotten up the nerve to let Victor see me without anything in the way. Now he’ll leave, and it won't even be because he was disgusted by my body.

“Do _not_ move them again, Yuuri,” Victor says with the most stern edge I've ever heard out of his mouth, even when we're training. I have never heard this tone to his voice, and it's as though I've been punched in the stomach.

I disappointed him, and he is _not_ hiding it. That's the last thing I want. I don't want him to be disappointed by anything I do, whether it's how I let my body go or failing at a routine or this, blatant disobedience in face of an order he'd given me.

“I won't, Victor, I promise. I'll keep them there. I'll do what you say. Just please, don't go…” The words have already left my lips before I've realized I've said them, and I blush. I probably sound pathetic to him.

Victor’s expression softens, and he brings a hand up from my chest to cup to my cheek. He strokes his thumb across my cheekbone as he murmurs, “I won't, игрушка моя. Now, are you all right?”

I nod. “Green.”

He grins, and urges me to sit up enough to pull the shirt over my head. My glasses get tangled up in the cloth and he mutters something soft under his breath in Russian — a curse? — as he tries to dig through it looking for them.

“Don't worry about it,” I murmur as I lay back down. “Please, just… keep going.”

Victor nods as he smiles and sets aside the shirt. “All right.” He bends to press a soft kiss to my lips, then shifts off my hips entirely.

The absence of his weight against me is both a blessing and a curse, as everything intensifies in different ways. My cock strains against my pants and I lift my hips and let out a soft whine.

With a soft chuckle, Victor bends to press a kiss to my chest. “I can see how hard you've been working, Yuuri,” he murmurs between kisses.

I'm surprised at this declaration. He hasn't said a word about how my body looks since that very first day he arrived here at the ryokan. I blush again, and attempt to duck my head to hide, which surprisingly isn't very effective when you're laying on your back.

“You're beautiful,” Victor whispers before kissing my chest again. He keeps moving, with no attempts made to mark me anymore. This is different. He isn't trying to possess me.

He moves down the length of my torso, his lips dragging along my skin punctuated by a few kisses here and there. Every so often, he stops to whisper something I can't hear or understand. I'm curious, but I don't want to interrupt what he's doing.

When he gets down to my stomach I tense slightly and he pauses. “Everything all right?”

I nod and murmur, “Yes, green.”

He nods, which drags his nose against the smattering of hair leading down from my navel. I gasp with the tickle, but he makes no motion to move.

I know he can see the stretch marks there. I know he can tell how fat I used to be, how fat I still feel I am. I don't know why he's still there where he can see them in plain sight, where the evidence of my neglect is so open.

“Can I… get a better look here?” Victor murmurs, his hand moving to the waistband of my pants.

He _wants_ to look at them? Does he want to study my failure? There's no way he can find this attractive. I draw a shaking breath as I wet my lips again, then I nod. “Yeah, you can.”

Slowly he draws down my pants, and I raise my hips to help him. Interestingly, he doesn't touch my underwear, but they ride low enough on my hips to allow full view of the network of red lines stretching up from my pelvis. I appreciate his over abundance of caution with regards to my level of comfort anyway.

“Absolutely beautiful,” he breathes as he traces one with a fingertip.

My eyes go wide. “N-no they're not! I only have those because I didn't care anymore!”

Victor continues to trace them with his fingertips as he murmurs, “No, Yuuri, they're beautiful because they're on you.”

“How can the proof that I—”

“They're beautiful because _you're_ beautiful, Yuuri.” Victor has his brow furrowed now, both hands pressed flat against my stomach. “You have been working so hard. I've seen it. I can tell. You've changed so much since I got here. But I have to wonder, Yuuri, were you working hard for you, or for me?”

Why is he asking me this? I thought it was obvious, that I had been telling him _I didn't care_. Did he ignore that? “For… for you, Victor. I was working hard because you came here to be my coach, and I… I didn't want to disappoint you.”

“Why? Do you think you're not worth it?” Victor asks, his voice soft. “You deserve better than you give yourself.”

I sigh. This has absolutely ruined the mood for me, even with Victor’s hands on me, with me in my underwear. “Listen, I just… please. I don't want to talk about it.”

Victor draws his hands back and sighs. “I'm sorry. Let me find your glasses for you, and then I'll go.”

I sit up and take his hand without care for how he might react to me moving without permission again. I might have lost my hardon, but I don't want it to _stay_ gone. “Please… don't.”

He smiles, then leans forward to kiss me. This kiss is softer than the ones we started with, with a hint of reassurance hidden within. “All right. I promise I won't embarrass you again, as long as you promise not to move without permission again. Can I get back to it?”

“Please,” I whisper as I lay back down again, my hands assuming their positions on either side of my head again. “I won't move again. Please, keep touching me.”

Victor wastes no time before he goes back to tracing the stretch marks, following each one from the point they end by my navel down to where a few of them dip below the waistband of my underwear. He's slightly fuzzy without my glasses on, but it looks to me like he's absolutely enraptured with what he sees.

I don't know what exactly he sees in me, but I'll try to take this appreciation, this loving touch, for as long as he's willing to give it to me.

His fingers dip lower each time he strokes down, until he lets them dip below the waistband of my underwear. As he's been touching me, my cock has slowly grown harder, my breath coming faster. I want more, want Victor to stop _teasing_ me and just touch me already. I feel as though I’m about to burst.

When he speaks it draws me out of the place I'd gotten lost in my head abruptly. “Yuuri, can I… take these off too?”

I nod breathlessly. “Yes, please. Please, Victor, just touch me, please…”

Again I lift my hips to let him take the underwear off, and he stares down at me. I shift under his gaze, catching my lower lip between my teeth. The way he's staring at me is different now, and I can't decide if I like it or not.

Victor opens his mouth to say something but changes his mind and closes it again. He changes position again, straddling my thighs now instead of my hips like he did before.

It only just now occurs to me that I'm stark naked while he's still completely dressed, and the realization is like a lightning bolt going straight to my cock. I’d never fully realized how hot that would truly be until _right this moment._

Victor grins as he reaches forward to take my cock in his hand and I’m so embarrassingly close that the first brush of his hand draws a strangled gasp from me.

“Yellow,” I spit again through my clenched teeth.

Victor stills his hand, though he doesn’t remove it, and he says quietly, “Let me know when you’re ready for me to move.”

I close my eyes and clench my fists, seeking the pain from the nails digging in again to pull me back from the edge. Once I feel I have it under control, I nod. “Go, please…”

He begins to stroke his hand slowly along my length, showing perhaps more restraint than he would have if I hadn’t called for us to slow down. I can already tell it won’t take much to get me to go over, though, because it’s building faster than I’m ready for.

Maybe the worst part of this is that with him on my thighs, I can’t move up into his strokes like I do when I do it myself. That was probably his plan for sitting himself right here.

When he curls his hand around the head of my cock I moan low in my throat and rock my head back and forth against the mattress. It feels so good, it feels not good enough, it feels like too much and not enough and I’m going to die this way and be glad for it.

“So beautiful, игрушка моя. Go on… let go for me.”

He doesn’t have to even finish the command before I’ve gone rigid, the backs of my fists digging into the mattress as I open my mouth on a silent scream. I don’t even know how long my orgasm goes on, but when it finishes I slump back against the mattress, panting like I’ve just run through a free skate program three times back to back with no break.

Victor bends to kiss my cheek softly, then slides off my legs. I can hear him moving across the room but I don’t even have the energy to look in his direction. Even if I had the energy I don’t have my glasses, and he’d be a blurry mass anyway.

I realize what he’s done when I feel a tissue against my stomach, moving up toward my chest. I must have gotten some distance. I can’t summon up the energy to help him, and I mumble something that was supposed to be ‘thank you’ but comes out an unintelligible mess.

“Shh, no, Юра,[3] just rest now.” Victor climbs up on the bed next to me and pulls me into his embrace. I’m still naked and he’s still dressed, but I can’t find the energy to argue.

We shift farther up on the bed and settle in under the covers, my head pillowed on his shoulder. He says I don’t have to talk, but he’ll be there if I need to. Otherwise, I should try to get some rest.

I smother a yawn behind my hand and say, “What does ig-igrushka moya mean?”

I hear the small chuckle from Victor’s chest more than I do in the air, but he turns serious. “Игрушка моя means… ah, it means my toy.” He reaches over to stroke his fingertips over my cheek. “I should have asked first. I’m sorry.”

I should be offended by this nickname, I know this, but it feels… right, coming out of Victor’s mouth.

“I think… I like that,” I say, my voice very, very soft.

Victor is quiet for a few minutes, his fingertips stroking gently over my shoulder, then he murmurs, “We can talk about this more in the morning. You should rest.”

When I open my mouth to protest he shakes his head with a smile, then kisses my forehead. “Please, Юра. Rest now. You aren’t in any position to give permission for me to do anything. Sleep, and we can talk tomorrow. I promise I won’t go anywhere.”

A yawn slips out when I make one last attempt to argue, and I can’t help but laugh as I concede his point. “All right, you’ve got me.” I close my eyes and settle in, and wonder if I’ll be able to sleep as comfortably in his arms as I do alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1 _Вкусно_ \- "delicious"  [return to text]
> 
> 2こんにちは _and_ おはよう - "hello" and "good morning"  [return to text]
> 
> 3 _Юра_ \- Yura, an affectionate nickname for "Yuri."  [return to text]


	3. The Russian Punk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fifteen-year-old Yuri Plisetsky has burst onto the scene and into Yuuri's life. He and Victor, being former rink mates, share a bond that Yuuri doesn't have with Victor, and Yuuri struggles to come to terms with that.
> 
> The reason, of course, that Yuri has arrived in Hasetsu is to make Victor fulfill a promise he made. Yuuri also gets to reap the benefits: a short program choreographed by Victor himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for this to have taken so long! (Just outside my "three week max" self-imposed deadline. Sigh.) Kids, life, attention span issues, all of them conspired against me!
> 
> This chapter covers the second half of episode two. Yuuri's anxiety attack was fun to write, and by fun I mean "it triggered an anxiety attack for me, wow, I thought that might happen."
> 
> Feel free to come follow me on tumblr at [analogwatch](http://analogwatch.tumblr.com), where I am still reblogging way too much stuff about Toyonaga Toshiyuki and also crying about idol anime. (We're not going to talk about how Doukyuusei destroyed my life a few days ago.)

Every day on my run through Hasetsu I come across some pocket of people talking about Victor. We try to go about our daily lives while ignoring the groups of people visiting the ryokan to try to get a look at him — of course only to see Victor, because if they cared about me they would’ve come here long before now — and the Ice Castle has been similarly overwhelmed with people swarming just to try to get a glimpse of the five-time World Champion.

I’m glad for my relative anonymity in his shadow, because it means I get to exercise at the ballet studio in peace.

I’ve been working on slimming down since before Victor got here, and as of this morning I am at my goal weight. The stretch marks are more red and angrier than ever without the fat under them, but my stomach is flat again and at least I wasn’t overweight long enough to _permanently_ stretch my skin out. I just have to make sure that I don’t wear anything that will show them while skating.

All I can think about on this run to the Ice Castle is how I will finally be allowed to skate now. I’m excited to get back on the ice with Victor coaching me, but I’m also terrified of letting Victor see me skate in person. Him seeing the YouTube video was one thing, since I’d run that routine until I could skate it forwards and backwards in my sleep, but him seeing me skate right in front of him meant I could fuck up. He might realize what a mistake he’s made trying to come coach me when I’m such a failure. It might mean that I never again get what we shared a few nights ago.

I press my fingers to the marks on my neck, hidden under the collar of my jacket I have zipped up to my chin. The ache has faded unless I press hard, and my pulse pounds under them too hard for me to focus on it anyway.

There’s a large crowd outside the Ice Castle today, which isn’t uncommon, but I also know that it’s been specifically closed today for my training session with Victor. I pick up the pace I’m running at, breaking into a sprint to hopefully get through the crowd with only minimal resistance, but it gets louder just before I arrive.

I keep moving, not pausing to see why there’s more noise. I’ve been running too long, and I can’t convince my legs to stop. With a loud thud, I run directly into the front doors of the Ice Palace. I’m panting like I’m about to keel over, though I’ve definitely improved over the first time Victor made me run behind his bike here. I've ran farther, for longer, and I am definitely showing it. Maybe I won’t actually fail this time. Maybe I can keep this going and skate for Victor the way I’m supposed to, and not like I usually do.

I brace myself against the doors while I try to catch my breath and say between heaving gasps, “I made it! I finally got here, and my weight is back to what it was at the Grand Prix Final! Victor should finally let me skate today.”

I can hear the Nishigori triplets behind me, and it sounds like they’re saying my name, but I’m finally here and I have worked _so hard_ for this and if I don’t go in now I’m going to lose my nerve.

I push the doors open and get about four steps in before I hear a rustle and soft grunt of exertion, and then my back is a screaming mass of pain. I stumble forward a few steps then trip over my feet. I feel weightless for a moment, then land flat on my face right in the lobby of the Ice Palace.

What the hell? Did someone shove me? No, that hurt too much for someone to have shoved me. Did someone _kick me_?

I turn over onto my back as fast as I can, only for Yuri Plisetsky to stomp a sneaker down directly onto my sternum. All the air rushes out of my lungs with a grunt, and if I thought I was in pain before, it’s nothing compared to how it feels now for him to be putting his weight onto my chest.

“This is _all your fault,_ ” he says, his voice low and menacing.

My fault? What is my fault? I didn’t ask him to come to Hasetsu, so how could any of this be my fault?!

He grinds his sneaker against my chest and bares his teeth at me. “ _Apologize._ ”

Why is he even here?! What do I have to apologize for? I shouldn’t have to apologize for something I didn’t even do, though I probably fucked up somewhere and deserve this.

Still, he doesn’t seem to be showing any sign of letting up until I do as he’s asked, and so I mutter meaningless apologies as best as I can with no room for air in my lungs. I still have no idea why he is so angry with me when I have literally never done anything to him. _He_ is the one who kicked the door of the bathroom stall I was hiding in to cry. _He_ is the one who yelled at me. As far as I know I’ve done nothing wrong.

His face has twisted into a grotesque mask of rage as he spits curses and insults at me one after the other. “Fucking pig. You _fucking_ fatass. How the fuck could _you_ get _Victor_ here to this little shithole of a town?”

I grab for his ankle to try to push it off of me. He can insult me all he wants, because both of those were true, but I can’t let him talk about Hasetsu that way. Not here in front of the gathered residents and media. “Get off of me!”

Yuri narrows his eyes at me, then shifts his weight to push off of my chest. The movement draws another grunt from me, but I’ll be able to get up off the ground and dust the dirt off of my jacket. Compulsively my hands move to the zipper to make sure it’s up all the way, since I don’t want him to see the fading marks Victor left on me. Those are mine, not anyone else’s. I don’t want to have to share them, or explain why they’re there.

With him off of my chest, I roll to my knees and stand up again. “Why are you here, Yuri?”

“Victor promised me first he’d choreograph a program for me,” Yuri said as he draped himself against the front skate counter with a flourish that could only come from years of ballet training. “What about you? Is he choreographing a program for you, too?”

Was he choreographing a program for me? He hasn’t mentioned any choreographers coming, and I know he choreographed his own programs. Would he still do that as a coach? It made sense for him to, but maybe he just hadn’t mentioned it because he didn’t even let me skate. “We haven’t talked about programs for me yet, no.”

“What?!” Fury flashes across Yuri’s face again, and I’m amazed at how much his flashes of rage remind me of myself as a teenager, before I learned to keep it inside. “You make him take a whole year off from skating to do what? Just fuck around here in some tiny tourist trap? Do you _really_ think he’s going to help you?”

He steps forward, and his expression morphs into a cruel, taunting smile. “Do you _really_ think Victor can help you, the weakling who _cried in the bathroom_ at the GPF? You think he can make you better?”

Oh. That’s what this is. He thinks he’s better than me. Some fresh-faced fifteen year old punk who’s not even set one skate on the ice as a Senior competitor thinks he’s better than me.

With a smirk, I shove my hands into my jacket pockets. I’ve been competing as a Senior for years. I know what it’s like out there, and I know that he’s underestimating me. I’ve had good runs, I’ve had some good competitions. I wouldn’t have made it through the Grand Prix Series at all if I hadn’t. I’m not going to let some _child_ tell me I’m not good enough when he hasn’t even proven himself.

“What are you smirking about, you fatass?” Yuri practically spits, his lips pulling back to bare his teeth at me again. He thinks he’s like the tiger on the sweatshirt he’s wearing, like he’s fangs and claws and menacing rage, but really he’s just a tiny kitten, still learning how to stalk his prey.

“Listen, it’s pretty obvious that neither of us have the whole picture, right? So why don’t we go in so you can ask him yourself?” I keep my grin wide and my face pleasant, though I’m sure it will only serve to make Yuri more angry. I don’t care if it does or not.

I know that Victor came here because _he_ wanted to. He came here to coach me, probably because of a video of me skating his free skate routine. I did not force him to come here, or give up his competitive career, or whatever Yuri thinks I have done.

When we step into the rink itself, Victor is in the middle of skating a routine, and judging by the way Yuri pauses, he recognizes the moves. I haven’t seen this yet, and I stuff down the pang of jealousy I feel at Yuri knowing more about Victor than me.

“This is the short program he was practicing for next year,” Yuri murmurs.

Had Victor been keeping this in his back pocket, just in case I crashed and burned? Was this his backup plan for when I inevitably failed? I mean, I suppose I would’ve kept something on the back burner too, knowing how I’ve ruined every major competition I’ve been in for the last four months.

The way Victor is moving on the ice is sensual in a way I’ve never seen. He’s always had a hint of it in all of his routines, but this feels like it’s _dripping_ with it.

“Wow,” I murmur.

“He was already working on programs for next season,” Yuri continues. “He was torn, though, because he always likes to surprise people, but nobody ever seems to be surprised by anything he does anymore.”

I’ve heard Victor say that in more interviews than I can count. Even when he was still only competing in the Juniors, his goal was always to do the unexpected. He never wanted to be stale or boring or predictable. He wanted to shock and awe.

“He knows as good as anyone that as soon as you’re out of inspiration, you’re dead.” Yuri crosses his arms on the barrier and rests his chin on them. He makes a thoughtful noise as Victor works his way through a complicated step sequence, then mutters, “If he isn’t going to be skating next year, maybe I can convince him to give me this program. I know that _I’ll_ surprise people with this program. And… I’m going to need his help if I want to make a good Senior debut and win the Grand Prix Final.”

_Win_ the Grand Prix Final? I turn my gaze to him, my eyes wide. A fifteen year old winning the GPF in his debut year was _unheard of._ He can’t seriously think he’s good enough to win his first time out. There’s no way he could possibly be that egotistical.

A grin flashes across his face, one with a mocking sort of overtone to it, before he takes a deep breath and shouts, “You look like you’re doing great, Victor!”

Does he not respect Victor, either? After getting to skate with him — I know they shared a coach — and knowing Victor is twelve years older than him? Victor deserves better than having to put up with this brat.

Victor turns to us, his eyebrows raised in surprise. “Yuri! I wasn’t expecting you. I’m surprised Yakov let you come here by yourself. What did you need that couldn’t be solved with a phone call?”

I edge away from Yuri as the blinding rage comes back. He’s gripping the barrier with white knuckles and I can _hear_ him grit his teeth. I’m actually sort of afraid he’ll hit me again.

In the face of that behavior, though, Victor only laughs. “Judging by your reaction, I’m assuming there’s a promise I made along the line that I’ve forgotten about, Юрочка[1].”

He skates over to the barrier and steps out again. His blade guards are close to me, so I pick them up and hand them to him. He takes them with a gentle smile, the sort of which I haven’t seen since the night we slept together. He’d taken such good care of me after the marking and the handjob. He slept next to me all night that night and asked nothing, and even made sure I felt fine in the morning before leaving again.

_ “Are you sure you’re all right, Юра?” Victor stroked a hand against my cheek, his eyes boring into my own. I couldn’t look away even if I’d wanted to. I was drowning in their blue expanse. _

_ I nodded, a smile coming to my lips without thought. “You’ve taken such good care of me, Victor. I don’t deserve this.” _

_ Victor furrowed his brow. “Of course you do. It’s my job to take care of you. Both as a coach and… after this.” He sat up on my bed, still keeping eye contact. “It would be irresponsible not to.” _

_ I _did _feel better than I had in months after that release and his care. “Well… thank you, then.” I hoped we could have more of this, but… I didn’t know if Victor wanted it, too. I was afraid to ask. _

_ With a smile, Victor caressed my cheek one last time. “Make sure you cover those. Those are for you and me alone, do you understand?” _

_ A secret? Why did it have to be a secret? I opened my mouth to ask the question, but the answer came out instead. “You don’t want anyone to think you’re not being a proper coach.” _

_ He nodded. “I don’t want people to disrespect you. Or me, for that matter. But if people think…” _

_ “I won’t let anyone see.” _

Yuri clears his throat and I blink. Oh no. I zoned out. I hope I wasn’t staring at Victor during that—

“I’m sorry, Юрочка. But you always knew I was the forgetful type.”

I missed an entire part of their conversation. What was Yuri talking to Victor about? Was it related to the program? Was it that promise that he’d choreograph a program for Yuri?

Yuri drags a hand down his face as he mutters, “Yes, I know. But a promise is a promise, Витя[2]. You said you would choreograph my program, so you _will_.” Yuri almost shoves me aside at this point as he steps in front of me. Again, I feel as though he thinks he’s being more menacing than he actually is.  He only comes up to my nose, give or take, and in this situation I’m finding it difficult to be threatened by him.

“So pack up, Витя. We’re going back to Russia.”

What? I feel as though someone’s dumped a bucket of ice water over my head. Victor can’t go back to Russia! He said he’d be my coach!

Though I suppose it’d be what I deserved, right? I definitely _don’t_ deserve having Victor as a coach. He’s too good to coach me. I have the Junior World champion standing next to me. I wasn’t the world champion, not even as a junior.

Victor furrows his brow in thought and my heart races faster. He’s considering it. I’ll have to help him pack everything back up at the ryokan and send him back to Russia. Can I even still find another coach this late in the game? Will he still charge me for the coaching he’s done so far, what little of it he’s done?

“I’ve got it!” Victor says, and I can feel my hands shaking.

This is it. This is the end.

“Tomorrow I’ll choreograph a program for both of you using the music I’m using in my short program!”

Wait. The music he’s using in his—

Yuri yells, “What? The same choreography as him?”

At the same time, I yell, “What? The same music as him?”

“No, this piece actually has several different arrangements. I was trying to decide between two of them.” Victor smiles at us with his hands on his hips, which both is and isn’t reassuring. He’s confident, but it feels like there’s something he isn’t telling us about this. “Of course, I’ll come up with a different program for each of you. I’ll have them ready for you then, and in one week, you’ll compete to see who can surprise the audience more!”

An audience?! Is he really considering having _a competition_ here at the Ice Castle?! “Wait, wait, I think we should really think about this before we go through with anything. I don’t want to be punished for losing—“

Yuri interrupts me with a wide grin. It’s probably the closest thing I’ve seen to that tiger he wants so much to be. “Victor will have to do whatever the winner says! If you agree, Victor, then I’ll do it!”

“Great! Oh, Юрочка, you know I love this sort of thing!” Victor has a dreamy sort of look, and my blood is running cold through my veins at the sight of it.

I’m going to lose. I’m going to lose this competition and I’m going to lose this opportunity and I’m going to lose _Victor._ I can’t believe this was so short-lived.

“Wait a minute!”

I look past Victor to see the Nishigori triplets. Where did they come from? How long have they been listening?

Axel grins at Victor, flanked by Lutz to her right and Loop to her left. “Will you let us organize the event? Just imagine: Yuri from Russia facing off against Yuuri from Japan! We can throw a huge party!”

Victor looks _far_ too excited about this. I feel like I’m about to vomit.

* * *

The announcement goes out over the local area while we’re still on our way home from the rink. The triplets work fast, at least, which is good for us with our short one-week timeframe.

I still feel like I’m going to throw up any time I think about it.

Yuri is following us back to the ryokan, it seems. Does he not have a place to stay? I wonder if I can suggest to Victor that we need to find a place for Yuri if he doesn’t already have one. I don’t think we have any room left at the ryokan.

Unfortunately I don’t get a chance to bring it up before we arrive, and then we’re standing in the banquet room which is now fully furnished thanks to Victor, and Yuri has a look of intense disgust on his face.

“What a fucking shithole,” Yuri mutters. “Where’s my room?”

“What?! You’re staying here too?” I cannot believe it. How could he not have lined up other plans? There’s nowhere to put him, not in any real rooms anyway!

Yuri turns to me, his teeth bared once again. “If you keep Victor all to yourself it won’t be fair for me, will it? So I’m going to stay here too. Fuck you if you think I won’t.”

I sigh and shrug. “I guess I don’t really have a choice in the matter, do I?”

He glares at me and points at my neck. “I won’t let you get away with keeping him to yourself. You’re fucking him already, aren’t you?”

My eyes go wide and I slap a hand to my neck. I hadn’t thought about it when I took the jacket off, but the marks are visible. I feel like my face is about to spontaneously combust with how warm it is. I must be beet red. “I— I mean— We— We haven’t—“

Behind me, Victor abruptly says, “You really should try out the hot spring. It’s wonderful.”

Yuri has apparently claimed the storage room situated off this banquet room, despite it being filled with boxes. He stomps over — I’ll have to remind him that we’re on the upper floor and everyone downstairs can hear him — slides the door open as hard as he can, and practically spits over his shoulder, “I can’t take a bath with other people, that’s fucking disgusting! I’m going to sleep. You’d better not make too much noise.”

He slams the door, then, in a way that I don’t know if I’ve _ever_ seen one slammed. I blink, and am about to turn to Victor when I hear the door open again.

Yuri looks furious, a hand planted over his stomach. “Give me some food and a fucking bath.”

I sigh once more. “Come on. I’ll show you what to do.”

I can practically feel the rage rolling off of Yuri in waves as we head down to the bathing area, especially when I explain that he needs to wash himself separately before getting in to the tub to soak. I suspect he might murder me if I linger, so I just make sure that he understands the rules, let him know that I’m leaving a yukata for him, and leave again.

Victor and I go to the lobby again, and I ask my mother to make some food for us. Her eyes flick to my neck and I realize I still haven’t put my jacket back on, but I try to make my face neutral as I make my request. Thankfully, my mother says nothing.

I figure Yuri would probably like the katsudon so I ask for that for him, and one of the standard bowls of rice, vegetables, and chicken she’s been making for me. Victor, to my surprise, asks for nothing but a bottle of shochu.

Yuri actually doesn’t stay in the onsen all that long, probably because he’s starving. He’s wearing the yukata and looks slightly more relaxed, so I decide that the yelling at me was worth it.

He devours the katsudon as though he hadn’t eaten in a week, and my mother looks _thrilled._ Both foreigners who have come to see me have adored her cooking, and I’m glad she’s happy. It’s actually a little unsettling to watch Yuri devour it, and I wonder if anyone’s ever actually taken the time to instruct him on proper table manners.

“This is fucking _amazing_!” He yells, bits of rice flying out of his mouth.

I barely manage to suppress a grimace.

“The katsudon _is_ very good, Юрочка,” Victor murmurs. He looks as though he’s about to fall asleep sitting up here at the table. He _had_ been skating longer than either of us, so I don’t blame him for being tired. I hope he can get some good rest tonight.

The door behind Yuri opens, and Mari levels a somewhat exasperated look at me. “ _Another_ visitor, Yuuri?”

I open my mouth to explain that no, I didn’t invite him here, and that I really wish he’d lined up another place to stay, but Yuri turns around to glare at her.

Her eyes about bug out of her head as she sucks in a quick gasp. “No way! He looks just like—“

All the posters in Mari’s bedroom of the various idol units she loves come to mind all at once. I know what she’s about to say. She’s going to compare him to…

“The blond Takao!”

Poor Yuri.

Our mother laughs, always fast to indulge and never condemn our interests, even when it means both her children have posters of unattainable idols all over their bedroom walls. “His name is Yuri, you know.”

Mari furrows her brow. “That’s too close to Yuuri, it’ll be confusing.” She thinks for a moment, then shrugs. “You’ll be Yurio, then.”

“What?!” he cries.

She ignores his protest and turns to me. “So where is Yurio staying?”

“He’s already put his things upstairs in—“

“The storage room?” Her eyes have gone wide again, though this time less in awestruck admiration and more in horror. “Oh, no, he can’t stay there with how it is! I need to clean it out!”

I turn back to my food but she pokes her head back in. “Yuuri. Come help me.”

I sigh, the sound coming from deep within my chest, and push myself up from the table. I guess I’ll just eat dinner cold later. Not like I haven’t done that before.

As I round the corner to head to the staircase, I hear Victor and Yuri talking in Russian. I think Victor teases him about the new Yurio nickname, which Yuri must not like. Whatever he yells back is in an angry shout which makes the already harsh language sound even more grating, and Victor laughs in response.

I don’t know what I was thinking. I’ll never be worthy of a close relationship like this with Victor, not when he already has so many talented skaters so close to him. I’m not even worthy of the coaching relationship with him: he’ll waste his time choreographing a routine for me, which I will then bomb when we have the exhibition, and then Victor will go back to Russia with Yuri. All of this is a tremendous waste of time for everyone involved. I don’t deserve him as a coach and I don’t deserve him as a friend. I don’t know why I ever thought I did.

The walls of the hallway are closing in on me, and my hands are shaking. I can’t breathe and I can’t get my wide eyes to focus on anything.

I have to get out of here.

I sprint up the stairs after Mari but instead of turning in to the banquet room I continue down the hallway to my bedroom. I yank my jacket back on, punching my fists through the sleeves, and grab my skate bag. I only have my competition skates in here, so I tear them out of my bag and dive for the things I had sent from Detroit I haven’t gotten around to putting away yet. They have to be in here somewhere, I haven’t needed them yet but now, now I need them—

I find my older pair of skates, the ones where the boot leather is too broken in to support my jumps anymore. I had the bottom of the toe pick ground down and the blade sharpened differently, with a shallower hollow in the center. I stuff them into my bag, sling it over my shoulder, and head out.

I can’t stay here another second. The ryokan itself will crush me under its weight if I don’t remove myself from it, with Victor and Yuri and their comfortable friendship I can never have within it.

Mari calls to me as I run out of my bedroom but I don’t stop. I can’t stop.

The evening air is crisp as I sprint to the Ice Castle and I pray the Nishigoris haven’t left yet for the night. We haven’t reserved the rink for the evening but if they’re there, maybe they’ll let me get out and skate. It’s the only thing that’ll keep me from drowning in my own head right now.

I can’t believe that I thought I could stand up against Yuri. He’s got more potential and more talent than me. He thinks he’ll win the Grand Prix Final his first year in the Senior division, and he’s already got world titles to his name which I _definitely_ don’t, and he and Victor are comfortable around each other because of being rink mates. I have none of that. I’m pathetic and weak.

I push myself harder. I have to get to the rink. I have to beat the Nishigoris before they go home.

I’m in luck and arrive just as they’re finishing up their nightly routine. Yuuko takes one look at me before she puts a hand on Nishigori’s shoulder and murmurs, “I think we can stay a little longer.”

Nishigori turns and sees me and raises his eyebrows. “Yeah, I think we can. I’ll go let the girls know.”

I mumble some thanks while bowing then nearly throw my skate bag down next to the bench I sit on. I have to get the skates on so I can go. I have to get out there. I can’t think anymore. I have to stop thinking.

That is the overwhelming thought in my mind as I get out on the rink. _Stop thinking. Stop thinking. Stop thinking._ I know, logically, that everything is fine, that Victor _does_ like me probably as much as he likes Yuri if not more if the fading marks on my neck are any indication, but the anxiety is screaming that I’m not as good. That I’m inferior next to him, next to them both. That I’ll just have to hear all the news reports and special features on the television comparing me to them, comparing my relationship with Victor to the bond between him and Yuri, and always, _always_ coming up short.

_Stop thinking._

My first coach here in Japan saw how my brain sabotaged me like this, saw how I got lost in the echo chamber of panic and self-deprecation, and had suggested that he teach me compulsory figures. They weren’t required in competition anymore, he said, but they were repetitive and maybe that would be good for me. He explained that some people thought they increased your skating symmetry and made your lines better, as well, but he thought I’d benefit the most mentally from it.

I’ve been thankful to him ever since. I outgrew his coaching right around the time I moved into Seniors, but those early lessons stuck with me even today. Celestino had been impressed when I knew figures, and even Phichit had remarked on it when he saw me doing them sometimes, when my brain grew too loud for anything except running on autopilot. I’m not perfect at them, like if they suddenly reinstated them at competitions I certainly wouldn’t win anything, but they’re repetitive enough to soothe.

I start with the basic circle eight, like I always do. The first figure taught, the simplest one. Push off on your right foot, balanced on the blade’s forward outside edge. Switch to the left foot, again balanced on the forward outside edge. Trace three times.

I’m the first skater out here after the evening resurfacing of the ice, and my figure shows up beautifully. I’ve done this figure so many times, I could do it in my sleep. Each circle is symmetrical, and the entire figure is twice as tall as me, give or take.

I lay another one down next to it, just as perfect as the first. I feel calmer now, but in place of the crushing anxiety is an overwhelming sense of shame. I ran out without saying anything to anyone — and left Mari alone to clean up the storage closet.

At least my family knows where I am. They’ll tell Victor if he asks.

I move again, and start to lay down another, more complicated figure. The bracket is one of my favorites, though I never start with it. Push off with my right foot, balanced on the forward outside edge of my skate blade. Pivot quickly at the opposite side of the circle to make a point, then finish the circle. Switch to left foot, balanced on the backward inside edge, repeat the bracket on the opposite end of the long axis. Trace three times.

I’m a little rusty with this one. My brackets aren’t symmetrical, and I somehow traced a flat all three times. With a sigh, I move over and repeat the figure. This one isn’t as bad, but I can still tell I need to work on it.

With each figure I lay down on the ice — they’ve had to start overlapping now, it’s getting harder to tell where the old ones end and the new ones begin — I feel more of my tension and anxiety bleed out of me.

Before I realize it, three hours have passed. I cringe as I notice the time on my phone. I skate to the side of the rink where Nishigori is waiting for me. 

He presses my blade guards into my hands as I step out of the rink again. “Do you feel better, Yuuri?”

I nod. “I’m sorry for keeping you here so late.”

“Yuuko already took the girls home. I’ll get home just fine, so don’t worry about me. We just wanted to make sure you got that out.”

“Was I so obvious?” I mutter as I walk back into the lobby to put my sneakers back on.

Nishigori takes each of my skates as I remove them, and wipes down the blades for me before slipping the blade guards back on. “We’ve known you a long time, Yuuri. It’s… not exactly a secret when you’ve got too much up in your head.”

“Ah,” I say as I pack away the skates. “Victor is probably worried about me.”

Nishigori shrugs, then says, “He actually came here looking for you.”

“He did? I didn’t see him.”

“He saw you skating the figures and didn’t want to bother you. We talked for a bit about it, actually. Explained to him that that’s how you’ve always been.” Nishigori holds a hand out for me to help me up off the bench. I don’t need the assistance, but I take it anyway.

So now Victor knows just how pathetic I am. Nishigori, Yuuko, and Victor all talked about how weak I am, how the anxiety sneaks up and crushes me from the inside. Victor probably won’t want to deal with me anymore—

He claps a hand on my shoulder. “He said it helped him understand you a little better. So I hope that helps you guys in the future.”

“Thanks, Nishigori,” I mumble. If Victor thinks knowing about it will help, then maybe it will. “I’ll be off, then. See you in the morning.”

He nods. “See you in the morning.”

The night air is a little chilly now, but I feel much better than I did while I was running here. I pick up a quick jog to head back to the ryokan and hope I don’t wake anyone up when I arrive.

* * *

The breeze coming off the ocean is cool and crisp this early in the morning as we jog to the Ice Castle.

Well, Yuri and I are jogging. Victor is riding a bike in front of us, and at least I’m not dying this time. Makkachin is running by my side and it makes me just the slightest bit sad when I think about how Vicchan was never big enough to do this, and that I’ll not get an opportunity to even walk him to the rink again.

We pass the same fisherman I have passed every day for years, and Victor calls out, “おはようございます！[ 3 ]” His pronunciation has already improved, and I have to admit I'm impressed.

The fisherman’s face brightens and he calls back, “おはよう！”

I open my mouth to say something but Victor calls to Yuri in Russian, and again I catch the Yurio nickname. Yuri yells something back, and Yurio is one of the words he says, but I can’t decipher anything else.

I’m either going to need to ask them not to do that in front of me or I’m going to need to learn more Russian.

It’s always been a short trip to the Ice Castle but it goes by in the blink of an eye with my excitement today. I finally get to skate. Victor will finally start coaching me today. I can’t mess this up. I have to learn this choreography perfectly, and I have to win the Onsen On Ice exhibition. Whether or not I skate for another season after this is riding on it.

And then, if I win here, I’m aiming for the Grand Prix Final.

I head out to the rink once I’ve got my skates on, and Yurio — Yuri — follows behind me.

I have to shove down a smirk tugging at my lips at the thought of calling him Yurio. If he continues to be such a little brat, I might have to.

Victor has beaten us out onto the ice and is already set up with a remote in his hands and the CD player behind him on a cart. He smiles at us as we skate closer, and nods in greeting. “Are you two ready to start learning the routines?”

I nod. “Yes, Victor. I’m ready.”

“Yeah, I’m ready. Go ahead and get on with it,” Yuri — no, Yurio — says from next to me.

His disrespect needles me, and I press my lips together before smoothing my face out again. I decide not to look at him, but only at Victor. If Yurio won’t show Victor any respect, then I’ll show him as much as I can.

Victor’s lips quirk up at Yurio’s attitude, but he continues without acknowledging it. “First, I’m going to have you two listen to the music.” He aims the remote over his shoulder and pushes a button, and the rink fills with the clear sounds of a boy’s soprano voice backed by minimal strings.

It sounds pure and angelic, how innocence would sound if it were expressed musically. I can already see in my head how a short program would look if skated to this music. This wouldn't be a program for sharp pivots and snapped movements like you might want with more forceful music, this would be a flowing, graceful set of fluid motions. This would be a routine filled with deep edges, with fingers and toes extended to follow the movement of the limbs. It would be difficult, but nothing I couldn’t pull off.

“This piece comes in two arrangements,” Victor says over the music. I blink and force myself to focus on him again, and not the half-baked routine I was forming in my mind. “Each arrangement has an opposing theme: _In Regard to Love: Eros_ and _Agape._ ”

He smiles at the two of us now, and taps a finger against his lips in thought before he speaks. “Have either of you ever thought about love?”

“No,” Yurio says from beside me, as though the answer were automatic.

But Yurio is only fifteen, right? So of course he hasn’t thought about love. But what’s my excuse? I’m twenty-three and have _definitely_ had crushes, one of which I even _acted on_. One has even acted on _me,_ and is standing in front of me right now asking if I’ve ever thought about love.

What do I say? _Have_ I thought about love? What _is_ love, anyway?

I shake my head no.

“All right,” Victor says with a hint of amusement. “Then what do you _feel_ when you’re listening to this music?”

I feel a sense of purity, of untouched innocence. Of not knowing anything, and being sure of my place in the world as a result.

“It feels very clear and innocent,” I find myself saying out loud, “like someone who doesn’t know what love is yet.”

“I don’t like this piece,” Yurio cuts in to say. He rolls his eyes so hard they seem like they might fall out onto the ice. “All that innocence bullshit makes me want to fucking puke.”

Victor chuckles at that and shakes his head. “Okay.” He stops the music, then starts a new song. It sounds similar to the first, but with a distinct Latin flair. The guitar follows the same melody the soprano had followed in the first song, but beyond that it doesn’t even feel like the same song at all.

Yurio raises his voice over the music. “Victor! I want to skate to _this_ song!” He casts a glare over to me as though I would argue.

I won’t, though. This isn’t the sort of image I’d want to put out onto the ice. I’d want to present that more pure and innocent image, and I’d work the edges and flowing movements into my step sequences. I could drive my PCS through the roof with that song. No, Yurio can have that other one.

“The first piece,” Victor says pointedly, “Is _In Regard to Love: Agape._ The theme is unconditional love.”

I can do this, I know I can. I can portray unconditional love on the ice.

“And this one is _In Regard to Love: Eros._ The theme of this song is _sexual_ love.”

Did I just imagine Victor looking at me while he said that? I imagined it, right?

I had to have imagined it.

Victor crosses his arms over his chest and smiles proudly at us. “I’ll have you two skate to these opposing themes. And the way I’m going to assign them is—“

My stomach drops out before he even speaks.

“Yuuri, _you’ll_ skate to Eros,” Victor cries, pointing a finger at me. I knew it. I knew I hadn’t imagined him looking at me. I knew I hadn’t made that up.

He moves his pointing finger over to Yurio, and finishes, “and Yurio, _you’ll_ skate to Agape!”

Yurio is just as unhappy about this as I am. “Switch them! That isn’t me at all! I would do way fucking better skating to—“

That smug smile I’ve come to associate with Victor teasing others — I’ve seen it in interviews so many times — spreads across his face. “You have to do what the audience isn’t expecting. How else will you ever surprise them? That’s my motto!”

God, did I know that. I even tried to live it, as best as I could. I just didn’t expect to have it applied to my life by Victor Nikiforov himself.

“Besides,” Victor continues, and the way his tone changes sends chills down my spine. “The both of you are far more ordinary and mediocre than you think.”

I always knew Victor would find me inferior once he saw my skating. That I wouldn’t measure up to the standards he held himself to, that he held everyone around him to. That vise is tightening around my chest again, and every breath is a struggle.

Victor Nikiforov thinks I am mediocre. He thinks I’m only ordinary. Why did I think I could skate his routine? It probably looked so awful with me skating it in a mediocre way. With ordinary, fat me, skating _his_ routine.

“I’m surprised you think you can choose your own image, anyway. As far as the audience knows you’re just a piglet and kitten. If you aren’t up to my standards by next week, I won’t choreograph either of your programs. But since both of you are my fans…” Victor grins widely and has the audacity to wink at me. “I’m sure you two can manage.”

But I won’t manage, I never manage. I’m a headcase who bombs almost every single major competition. Sometimes PCS can save me but I don’t know if it will with this song. I don’t know if I can rely on that to be enough of a safety net for me to win.

“Fine,” Yurio spits. “I’ll skate to Agape, since my fucking Senior debut depends on it. And when I win, you’d better fucking give me a program that will let me kick _ everyone’s_ ass.”

“It’s up to you whether you win or not.” Victor is taking advantage of his height here, staring down his nose at Yurio, who has his hands planted on his hips and a sour scowl on his face. “If _I_ skated the routine, I’d win for sure.”

Yurio clicks his tongue as he kicks his blade against the ice, sending a spray of snow at Victor. “Just remember, if I win you have to do whatever I say. When I win, Victor, you’re coming back to Russia with me, and you’ll be _my_ coach instead. That’s what I want.”

Victor smirks. “All right.”

What? Victor accepted it that easily? He didn’t put up an argument against Yurio demanding he come back to Russia with him? He’d throw this away that easily?

Somehow it was worse knowing that he might actually do it than it felt to simply imagine it happening.

“And what do _you_ want if you win, Yuuri?” Victor has turned back to me, and he’s got that gentle smile on his face again. He’s smiled at Yurio so many times since they’ve both been here in Hasetsu and he’s never given Yurio that smile. That’s mine.

I hoard the feeling that smile gives me deep in my heart, like nurturing a flame. I don’t want to lose that. I don’t want to lose _Victor._ I can’t lose this competition, I have to keep him by my side. At least just until the Grand Prix Final.

Just until then.

I want to win.

“I want to eat katsudon with you, Victor.” My voice is so quiet. I hope Victor understands what I’m saying here. I can only eat katsudon if I win. He knows this, he and Minako discussed this in front of me his first night here. I want to win so he will eat katsudon with me.

His eyes go wide and he gasps. He understands. I don’t care that Yurio looks baffled at this seemingly random request. _Victor_ understood what that meant. The flame in my heart grows into an inferno.

I stand up straighter and look Victor directly in the eye. “I want to win, and I want to eat katsudon with you! So I’ll skate Eros, and I’ll give it all the eros I’ve got!”

The look of pride on Victor’s face is one I will treasure for the rest of my life. “Yes, Yuuri! I _love_ it!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1 _Юрочка_ \- Yurochka, an affectionate nickname for "Yuri." [ return to text ]
> 
> 2 _Витя_ \- Vitya, an affectionate nickname for "Victor." [ return to text ]
> 
> 3 _おはようございます！_ \- "good morning," but more polite. [ return to text ]


	4. Unlocking the Eros Within

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Victor shows Yurio and Yuuri their choreography for their short programs, and then the race is on to learn their routines in the week before the Onsen on Ice Exhibition. Can Yuuri figure out what his Eros inspiration is in time? Can he master it even after figuring out what it is?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OH WOW sorry for the delay. I have no excuse. Video games, I guess. (I guess, I say, like I didn't mainline DRAMAtical Murder and cry about it) Let's blame it on that.
> 
> I'm doing Camp NaNoWriMo this month, though! So that should keep me on track, unless I crank out another 13,000 word chapter (Not this one, but chapter 5 is over 13k words. This one is just over 11.7k). We'll see!
> 
> Feel free to come follow me at [analogwatch](http://analogwatch.tumblr.com/) on tumblr, and watch me cry about robots and also Toyonaga Toshiyuki!

Victor positions himself on the center of the ice, with Yurio and I standing just outside the barrier. “First will be Yurio’s: _In Regards to Love: Agape._ Remember what this is about, Yurio. It’s about unconditional love, like what God has for us. Infinite, self-sacrificing love, no boundaries or restrictions. Just pure undeserved grace. Do you understand me?”

Yurio rolls his eyes next to me and I press my lips together at the sight of his disrespect. “I get it, Victor.”

Once Victor has assumed the starting pose, I push play on the music player, and Victor begins. Just like I imagined, he starts with the most flowing movements, going into deep edges immediately. This is a complicated and difficult routine, and while Victor pulls it off beautifully I don’t know if Yurio can. I don’t even know if _I_ could, if this had been assigned to me. I suppose Victor would know what his rink mate is capable of, even if this looks nearly inhuman.

I glance over at Yurio and he is engrossed, leaning on the barrier, thumb idly stroking across his lower lip. He’s studying Victor’s every move. Will he be able to pick up this routine this fast? I look back at Victor in awe. It’s easy to forget that Yurio is only fifteen sometimes, when you see him like this.

Victor hits the end pose flawlessly, then before the echoes of the final notes have even left the rink he turns to us with a smile. “I was thinking something like that. What do you think?”

Yurio rolls his eyes and straightens up. “Yeah, I pretty much got it while you were skating it.”

He _was_ picking up the routine! My heart takes a free fall toward my stomach. I’ve never been able to figure out a routine on the first watch. It’s always taken me a few times through before I was able to string all the components together. I can’t believe it!

Applause echoes now instead of music, and we turn to see Yuuko standing in front of the barrier near the entrance into the rink, and she has that same look of wonder I remember from when we were kids watching Victor skate. “That was amazing,” she says in breathless reverence.

“Who’s this bitch?” Yurio says, a lip curling as he glares over at her. He must not be used to being watched while he skates by anyone who isn’t already part of his team.

I draw a deep breath. “Yuuko is one of the staff here, and I’ve known her since we were kids.” I hope he reads the subtext there, the subtle threat I am making with my tone that he is not to speak of her like that, that she deserves his respect, even if he refuses to give it to Victor.

She leans forward with a smile Yurio doesn’t deserve. “I’m sorry to interrupt your practice. The routine Victor was skating was just so beautiful that I couldn’t help myself. I had to see it up close.”

Yurio’s expression changes but I can’t quite read it. Yuuko must have been able to because she gives him a soft smile in return.

I don’t get a chance to ask for clarification before Victor calls to me. “All right, Yuuri. It’s your turn. Get ready!”

“Ah— yes!” I yell back as I scramble to pick up the remote.

“Remember, Yuuri: this is _In Regards to Love: Eros._ This is about sexual love, about pleasure on pleasure. This is the kind of love that swallows you up, the kind of love you drown in.” He grins at me as he brushes his fingertips over the side of his neck. He plays it off like he’s adjusting his shirt collar, but I know what he’s referring to. Neither of us have talked about that night since Yurio got here, and I was actually sort of afraid that he wanted to pretend it never happened, like I did to Phichit after our fling. My own fingertips go to the collar of my jacket without thinking and he gives me a minute nod. My face is on fire, and beside me Yurio makes a sound of intense disgust.

Victor assumes the starting pose in the center of the rink and I feel something stir in the pit of my stomach. He’s got his arms to his sides but he has his hip cocked in a sensual way that adds a curve to his body I can’t quite get out of my head.

I can’t believe Victor did all of this for me. I can’t believe I get to skate a routine Victor has made, and it’s mine. My routine, choreographed by Victor Nikiforov himself. It’s beyond my wildest dreams.

Once I hit play on the remote, Victor begins. Even just the first movements, where he’s stationary on the ice only moving his arms, are sexy. He removes all doubt of what this routine could possibly be about when he turns his head to lock eyes with me and toss his head in clear invitation.

Yuuko makes a noise next to me that sounds suspiciously like she’s dying, but I can’t really tear my eyes away to see. I’m absolutely engrossed in the way Victor’s body moves. The song has a distinct Latin flair to it, and Victor shows it in the way he’s dancing over the ice. His whole body has become one with the music, and I can see the story he’s telling. It’s a compelling tale of seduction and love and rejection, told in rolls of his hips and flicks of his wrists.

I don’t even know if I’m capable of skating this! This looks just as hard as Yurio’s _Agape_ routine did. Does Victor know what I’m capable of? Is this even within my reach?

He meets my gaze while skating and my mouth goes dry. I'm glad for the barrier in front of me to conveniently obscure just how hard I am watching him. It almost feels as though it's enough to break the laws of biology and _impregnate_ me.

If this gets any hotter, I'd be willing to drop my pants right here in the rink and let him try.

How would that go? Would it happen here in the rink itself? Definitely not on the ice, that'd be asking for trouble, but maybe outside the barrier?

It'd be cold at first, exposing that much skin to the air, but then his hands would be on me. I bet they'd feel like fire against the chilled air. He’d lean over me and whisper into my ear — maybe call me игрушка моя again — and I’d be able to feel him pressed up against me. His hands would move over my naked hips, and my pants would be uncomfortably gathered around my knees but that wouldn’t matter once Victor brought his hand around to the front to wrap around my cock. He’d stroke slowly to build it up, but he wouldn’t let me come. He’d peel off his gloves and those slender, smooth hands would be on my skin again, one sliding up under my shirt to brush against one of my nipples, the other shifting back to press against my ass. He’d begin working me open with lube from God-knows-where, fingers pressing into me and prying me wider. I would rock back into each thrust of his fingers, and I would moan from deep in my chest.

Victor would murmur things into my ears, things I wouldn’t even hear or register as he continued to thrust his fingers into me, and then they’d be replaced by something bigger, and he’d slowly press his cock into me. My groan would echo throughout the entire rink, and Victor would waste no time before he started thrusting harder and faster into me. His fingertips would dig into my hips, and his teeth would sink into my shoulder—

“Yuuri, how was that routine?”

Oh, my God, I’m standing in the middle of the rink staring at Victor. How did I get here? _When_ did I get here? I wasn’t even paying attention—

I clap my hands together in front of my crotch. I don’t even want to consider that Yuuko and Yurio saw just how turned on I am. 

“It was—“ My voice breaks as I start to speak, and I clear my throat to try again. “It was very ‘Eros!’”

The _grin_ that spreads across Victor’s face both terrifies and thrills me. He can’t have guessed that I wasn’t exactly thinking about his skating while watching him. I’m sure he just figured that I was just enjoying his skating.

I can’t decide if that’s better or worse, actually.

His grin fades to a more manageable smile, and then he’s all business again. “So for the program composition, what quads can you land?”

I clear my throat preemptively this time in hopes that it won’t break again. I don’t have as many quads under my belt as other skaters do and I’m actually sort of worried how Victor will feel about my pathetic repertoire. “I can land the toe loop, and I’ve landed the salchow in practice but… but never in competition.”

The look that crosses Victor’s face makes my heart drop and I quickly say, “I think I can do it, though, if I try! So, please…!”

“You can practice the basics, then,” Victor says, and my heart definitely does drop, with my stomach free-falling after it. “I’ll teach Yurio first.”

“But, Victor—“

“I won’t teach you anything you can’t already do. How many times have you messed up at competition?” He crosses his arms over his chest and meets my gaze with an intensity that won’t let me look away. “You have the skills to win, Yuuri. Why, then, can’t you?”

I can’t tear my eyes away from his. God, I’m always surprised by just how blue they are. “That’s… probably because… because…” With effort, I blink and drop my gaze. Shame wells up into the hole where my heart used to be. “I don’t have any confidence.”

I can’t believe I just admitted that. It’s not like it’s a secret or anything, but being forced to put it into words, and to Victor himself no less. I’m hopeless. I’m _worthless._ I can’t skate the routine Victor wants to put together and I’m just wasting his time here. He’ll be packing up and going back to Russia before I know it.

Victor’s voice is more gentle than I expect when he speaks again. “That’s right. As your coach, it’s my job to _make you_ confident.”

I look up to find Victor moving in closer, a hand extended. He cups my chin similar to how he had the first night he was here, but instead of simply resting his fingers under my jaw he rubs a thumb over my lower lip before tilting my head up. He slides a leg in between mine, his knee knocking against my inner thighs, and I can’t breathe anymore.

“No one in the whole world knows your true Eros, Yuuri,” he breathes, his lips mere centimeters from mine. “Not even you seem to be aware of it.”

I’m quivering, and I’m glad that I haven’t moved my hands away from their place in front of my pants because I am _ragingly_ hard again. I draw a shaking breath and try to wet my lips without thinking, only to have my tongue graze Victor’s thumb. I can taste the salt on his skin and the combination of it all — Victor’s gaze boring into my own, his silky soft hair tickling my forehead and nose, his thumb resting on my lips, the taste of him in my mouth — draws a soft, strangled groan from my throat.

Victor grins again, and rubs his now-damp thumb over my lips slowly, purposefully. He inches his leg forward to bump against first my hands, then my cock, as he whispers, “Do you think you can show it to me soon?”

I'm going to self-destruct. My face is on fire, and every fiber of my being is humming with the thrill of Victor so close and touching me. I draw a ragged breath, and the thought of kissing Victor’s thumb crosses my mind, maybe to encourage him to kiss _me—_

“Victor, what the fuck?! I thought you were going to teach me first!” Yurio yells from the barrier.

Victor backs away from me leisurely, taking his time, but I can still feel every point of contact on my body like he's seared into my flesh. I turn to follow his gaze and Yurio looks as though he's going to murder me. Yuuko, on the other hand, has a look of wonder colored with that devious playfulness she tends to show. Nishigori will know about this later. I pray it doesn't come up in conversation, because I _will_ die if I have to discuss this with anyone.

With a grin, Victor calls back, “All right!”

He turns to me, and I swear he doesn't look the least bit ruffled by how close he got me to coming in my pants right here in front of everyone. “Yuuri, I want you to think _very_ hard about what Eros is to you. You can use your basic training time for that.”

What _is_ Eros? I don't know. I don't even know where to begin.

* * *

The stretch feels good on my hamstrings, and Nishigori’s hands pushing gently on my shoulders to guide me makes it feel even better.

I spent all morning doing basic agility drills and strength training while trying to think of what Eros is to me. I’m not any closer to the answer than I was when Victor had his thigh grinding up against my bulging athletic pants, and I’m discouraged.

“So you're telling me you had to do basic training _all morning_ because you couldn't tell him what Eros is to you?”

“Yeah,” I say as I shift to stretch to the side.

Nishigori follows me, his hands pressing on my shoulders to urge me slowly into a deep stretch. “I bet he hasn't thought much about it himself,” he mutters. “You should have just made something up.”

I turn to my opposite side and snort. “Victor is a _genius_. You should have seen the way he skated that routine. He _definitely_ has thought about what Eros is, and he _definitely_ knows. I wouldn't have been able to make anything up that he would've bought.”

I stretch toward my toes, wrapping my hands around my feet to pull my chest flat against my thighs. My voice sounds strained when I speak again. “I could _see_ the story in what he was skating.”

Nishigori shifts behind me, and sounds amused when he speaks again. “What was the story, then? Maybe your answer is in there.”

I straighten up and sigh. “A playboy comes to town, and without even trying manages to get every woman under his spell. They throw themselves at him and he could have his pick of any of them, but he sets his sights on the most beautiful one of them all.” I push myself to my feet and roll my shoulders.

With a raised brow, Nishigori says, “And Victor is the playboy?”

“I think _I’m_ supposed to be the playboy. Anyway, the beautiful woman doesn't fall for him, and actually turns him down at first. He pursues her relentlessly, and as they play the back and forth of the pursuit, he begins to wear her down. She knows it isn't the right choice, but she can’t help herself, and she ends up falling for him.”

Nishigori is engrossed in the story, and waves for me to continue.

“Once he has her, he tosses her aside like the pursuit was all he wanted, and he moves on to the next town, for the next beautiful woman waiting for him there.”

I’ve climbed up on a bench now, acting out the imagined positions of the playboy, and Nishigori applauds. In a sarcastic, lilting tone, he calls out, “Oh, Yuuri, that’s so hot! Just go ahead and take me now!”

I snort again as I turn to him, rolling my eyes.

“Yuuri, you and I both know that isn't you.”

“I know, right?” I jump down from the bench and sigh. “People will hear he choreographed the routine, see me skate it, and wonder why they couldn't have just seen Victor himself skating it.”

“Maybe,” Nishigori says. “But you looked pretty sexy in that video of you copying his free skate program from last season.”

I sigh. “I can’t just copy him. There's no way I'll ever be better than him if I just keep copying him.”

Nishigori’s eyes go wide. “Wait, Yuuri, you really don't think you'll actually _be better_ than Victor someday, do you?”

Do I? No way. Victor holds world records. Victor has won the Grand Prix Final _and_ Worlds five times in a row. Victor got the gold medal at the Olympics. I haven't even won a gold medal _anywhere_ beyond regional or B-level competitions. I’ve never won a Grand Prix series competition. I got _last place_ at the final.

No, I will never be better than Victor.

“No, no!” I cry, shaking my head furiously. “Not at all! I know I'll never be better than him!”

Nishigori leans forward on the bench, bracing his elbows on his knees as he grins at me. “Come on, now. How can someone like you, with no dating experience at all, beat the hottest bachelor in the entire world in expressing Eros?”

He laughs, and it’s like a punch to the gut. He's right, of course. The one little handjob I got from Phichit, and the one handjob I got from Victor, don't add up to knowing anything about dating, or love, or sex. I am hopeless. This is hopeless.

“You're right,” I whisper as I sit down on the bench I’d been standing on. “I can't.”

* * *

Yurio is either too tired to care, or he's relaxed his prior insistence that he wouldn't bathe in front of other people, because he's soaking right next to me in the onsen. Victor worked him hard, I could tell based on how he dragged himself back here to the ryokan. He doesn't want to talk to me, so I take the time to try to think more about what the hell Victor wants me to say about what Eros is.

I mean, I’m a grown man, twenty-three years old. I shouldn't be having this much trouble figuring out what Eros is. I could be sexy if I wanted to be!

The door leading out here to the onsen opens, and there's Victor, again shameless in just how naked he is. My breath catches in my throat. He’s just standing there, hand on his hip, naked as can be.

God, he's beautiful.

“Hey, take a picture of me in the bath so I can post it online!” He's got that grin on his face that makes me think that he knows exactly what he's doing, and I have to swallow hard before I speak.

“We don't let people take pictures here in the bath, Victor,” I say, naturally stepping into the role I don't often take of _ryokan employee_. I’m glad for the excuse to focus on anything but how naked Victor is in front of me.

“Really?” Victor sounds so perfectly disappointed I almost feel guilty for telling him no.

“Just get in the fucking hot spring,” Yurio murmurs, his voice slurring with exhaustion. “Don't make us take a picture of your fucking dick. You probably take enough of those as it is.”

Victor levels a look at Yurio but says nothing, then climbs down into the onsen next to me. “You both worked hard today.”

Yurio just grunts in response.

“Thank you,” I say. I hope he doesn't ask me about Eros. I still don't have an answer, at least not one that he could use. How can I explain that Eros is—

Oh. I have an answer, but still not one I can tell him.

How can I ever explain to him that Eros is the way he moves, the way he looks at me, the way he touches me? Eros is his voice in my ear, his breath in my hair, his lips and teeth on my neck, his hands on my skin.

_Victor_ is my Eros, and I don't know if I can admit that. I don't want him to think that I’m dependent upon him after only that one time together. I don't want him to think that I can’t skate Eros without thinking of him. We agreed to play together, but he didn't agree to be my sex idol.

“Try to relax,” Victor says to me softly. “You’ll have a big day tomorrow, too.”

I nod, and close my eyes to try to ignore how close he is to me, and how I know how naked he is. I pray I can get my body under control before I decide to climb out of here. Victor wouldn’t be surprised at the sight, but I don’t need Yurio seeing it. Again.

Thankfully the time in the onsen passes without incident, and my mother is more than happy to feed us after we come back into the ryokan lobby. Yurio and Victor are both presented with katsudon, and I am presented with vegetables, again.

Wonderful.

Eros. I can’t tell Victor what I think my Eros is. In fact, I need to find a new thing to focus on. I can’t rely on Victor forever, since he said he’d get me to the Grand Prix Final. I can't assume he'll still be here after that.

What, besides Victor, has been a driving force in my life? What have I gone out of my way for? What makes me lose rational thought if I’m reminded of it?

I take a deep breath, and the smell of Yurio’s katsudon hits me.

That’s right. Katsudon! I have made _many_ decisions based upon whether or not there would be katsudon at the end of it.

“That’s it!” I cry as I stand up. I finally have an answer for Victor! “Katsudon! Katsudon is Eros to me!”

A deafening silence fills the room, and I cringe with the sense of shame filling me. I shouldn’t have said anything. “Sorry,” I mutter. “I didn’t…”

“I can work with that,” Victor says, his voice much more gentle than that dumb idea calls for. “It’s a unique idea, which is always nice for fresh takes on skating routines.”

My face is on fire. I can’t believe I actually said that out loud in front of both of them. Yurio snorts from next to me, and I glance down at him.

“Are you fucking serious?” He asks, and I can see his face crinkling in the way that indicates laughter is coming.

The shame swells, and if I stay here even a second more I’m going to throw up from it. “I… I have to go.” I push myself up to standing and nearly run out of the room. I can’t bear the thought of looking either of them in the eye after that idiotic bullshit I just spouted. Katsudon, really? This is why I have to learn to _think_ before I actually _speak._

I head to the entrance of the ryokan as quickly as I can, pull on my sneakers, and open the front door. I hear a soft bark behind me and turn to see Makkachin waiting, head cocked to the side and mouth hanging open in a big dog grin.

“Come on,” I murmur. “Wanna go for a run?”

It’ll be better to run with Makkachin than it will to run alone, and maybe it’ll help distract me from how utterly mortifying it was to say such a thing in front of Victor.

I realize as I’m running that no, not even having Makkachin running with me is enough to pull me back from that, and I groan under my breath. I can’t believe I would say that. I can’t believe that at the age of twenty-three I would suggest that _a fried pork cutlet on rice_ would be the thing that gets me hard. It’s not even remotely close to true. I love katsudon, sure, but—

“ _God!_ ” I stop running and hunch over, thrusting my hands into my hair to tug at it by the fistful. How could I have been so _ immature_, so _stupid_? No wonder Yurio hates me. He’s only fifteen and would know better than to insist food was sexy. Why couldn’t I have just told the truth?! Why couldn’t I have just said it?! _Victor, you’re my Eros._ It’s not that hard. He’s an adult, I’m an adult! So what if he thinks I’m dependent upon him?! It wouldn’t be nearly this embarrassing to have him think that I relied on him to think of sexual love.

I sink down into a crouch, still pulling on my hair. My glasses have fallen askew, and one of the nose pads is digging in painfully, but I can’t stop to fix it, I can’t think. My chest is trying to collapse in upon itself and I can feel the tears falling hot against my knees. I don’t know how I can face either of them again after admitting that.

_ Fucking katsudon. God. _

Makkachin comes up to me and nudges his nose against my cheek. His breath is warm against my skin as he nudges my hand out of my hair, and then he licks me. I can’t see him very well despite how close he is, since my glasses are half-falling off my face, but he looks… concerned, in the way only a dog could. He gives a small whimper before he nudges my cheek again with his nose, and I give a sobbing laugh as I hug him.

“Thank you, Makkachin,” I whisper against his fur. I’d forgotten how it felt for an animal to worry about you. It’d been far, far too long since Vicchan had been able to kiss my tears away.

I let my knees drop to the pavement as I hug Makkachin close, my face buried in his neck. He’s patient with me, which I wouldn’t have expected so soon after meeting him. It helps the panic to subside and my tears to dry up, and then I kiss him softly. “Victor’s lucky to have you,” I murmur.

Makkachin tilts his head to the side, tongue lolling out, and then he barks.

“Yeah, I guess I’m lucky now too, huh boy?” I rub my hand over his head and stand. “C’mon. Let’s go home.”

* * *

I never did manage to tell Victor the truth. When I skate he tells me to imagine the katsudon, to try to “entangle the egg,” to _become_ the katsudon.

However the hell I’m supposed to do that, anyway.

I’m certainly beginning to master the technical elements of my show but something intangible is beyond my grasp. Something that I can’t get from trying to pretend to be katsudon. I know it’s Eros I’m missing, but how am I supposed to find what the hell it is if I can’t even be completely honest about what it is?

Every day it’s the same debate. _Tell the truth, Yuuri,_ I tell myself. _Tell him that katsudon isn’t your Eros, he is._ And yet, every day I can’t. The longer I let this go on, the harder it becomes to just say it.

So the days creep by, and the Onsen on Ice competition looms large. I need to be able to express Eros in my skating if I want to win. I need to win if I want to keep Victor here as my coach. I need to keep Victor here as my coach if I want to keep doing… whatever it is we’re doing. I know all of this, and yet I continue to insist my Eros is katsudon, and I continue to fail to reflect it in my skating.

Yurio seems to be similarly struggling to grasp Agape from what I’ve seen of his routine, though I haven’t heard him and Victor discuss where his inspiration is coming from. Is he lying to himself as well, or does he simply not understand it?

It’s only two days until the competition now, and Yurio and I have been training both on and off the ice for _hours_ every day. Yurio tends to work with Yuuko when he’s not skating with Victor or practicing ballet with Minako, and I work with Nishigori. When we’re on the ice Victor watches us skate with an unreadable expression, and it makes my scalp prickle with anxiety.

Late in the afternoon, Victor suggests Yurio go to a waterfall. Does he really think misogi will help Yurio find his Agape? Does he even _know_ what misogi is? Does he think that Yurio just needs to be cleansed in order to grasp his Agape? I’m not even sure that’s how misogi works. Not that I’ve ever actually tried it or anything.

“Yuuri,” Victor calls as I slip my blade guards on just outside the barrier.

I stop and look back at him and his expression sends a shot of dread down my spine. _Please don’t make me stand under the waterfall with Yurio, Victor. Please._

“Take Yurio with you to the waterfall,” Victor says. “You both could stand some extra focus.”

Great. I don’t think Victor knows how misogi works at all.

Yurio and I pack up, and he is _seething_.

“Sorry,” I murmur. “I don’t think Victor will let you say no to this.”

Yurio shoots a glare at me, and if I thought he hated me before it’s nothing compared to how much he must hate me right now. “You think I don’t already fucking know that, you fatass? This is how he’s always been. Once he wants to do something you can’t ever fucking stop him.” 

He’s right, of course. After sharing a rink and a coach with him, Yurio would know Victor better than I ever could reading magazines and watching television interviews. I might be getting to know Victor now, but Yurio has a head start that I can’t fully overcome.

The only edge I have is the memory of the marks on my neck and his hand on my cock.

I grimace at the memory, then force my face smooth again. “Well, if Victor wants us to do misogi we need—“

“Wait, misogi?” Yurio’s face screws up like it always does whenever I speak Japanese in front of him. It’s not surprising; he has an incredible grasp of English for only being fifteen, which means he hates not knowing what’s being said in front of him. Conversations with my family, or when Yuuko and I speak in private, frustrate him.

“It’s… it’s when you go to a waterfall, and it’s—“ I wave a hand in front of me as though I’m going to pluck the proper English terms right out of thin air. I’ve never had to use these words before. “It’s to cleanse you. Like trying to wash away something you can’t see.”

I didn’t explain it well, judging by Yurio’s blank expression. I sigh and pick up my phone, navigating to a translation site. I type in the phrase I’m looking for and turn the screen to Yurio. “There we go. Ritual purification. It’s a Shinto practice. Which, I was going to say, is why we need to go to the temple—“

He twitches when I say temple, and it probably has something to do with when Victor sent him to one a few days ago. I can imagine what happened, so I don’t ask him about it.

“Anyway, we need to go to the temple to do it. Let’s go, before Victor asks why we haven’t left yet.”

* * *

The water is freezing. At least we’re in the white kimono women usually wear and not enduring the water beating down on our bare shoulders like men usually do.

It had taken some work to coach Yurio through the steps — this was more complicated than using an onsen, after all — but we’d gotten it worked out, and now he and I were side by side under a waterfall.

I don’t know why Victor made me come, too. Freezing under this waterfall is about the least sexy thing I could possibly think of, so it isn’t going to help _me_ find the ability to actually represent Eros in my skating.

Am I supposed to just be moral support for Yurio? Why couldn’t he have been moral support for Yurio? It’s not like I’m doing much more for him meditating next to him than Victor would be sitting on the riverbank, especially when I can still feel the irritation rolling off Yurio in waves.

I close my eyes and try to focus on the here and now. It surely isn’t helping me to just stew on this when I could be taking the opportunity to try to think, I suppose.

_Can_ I represent Eros in my skate while still insisting I’m drawing on katsudon?

Maybe if I just try to think about what I like about katsudon, I can try to… I don’t know, apply that somehow to my life? Apply that to my skating? It’s a start, I guess.

So what’s my favorite thing about a bowl of katsudon? The pork cutlet, golden brown and fried nice and crisp, but still tender and juicy inside. The contrast in that first bite is always the best part. It’s like a nice surprise to have the crust give way to the meat inside.

Can I be that way? Can I put up a barrier like that, an outer shell, to tear away while I skate to reveal something new? How would I do that? If I’m skating as the man seducing the woman, how can I possibly do that? He doesn’t reveal his true self until the end and that isn’t interesting to skate.

But if I skate as the woman…

It’s worth considering, anyway.

A shiver ripples through my body before I can suppress it, and I glance over at Yurio. He’s lost in his own world, but I can see how pale his lips are and remember that he’s much smaller than me. If I’m cold, he must be freezing.

I take his arm and pull him forward. “Hey, Yurio. Are you okay? Let’s head back now, I think we’ve been here long enough.”

His eyes are still a little unfocused as he blinks. I’ve never seen him look like this before. He’s so vulnerable! What was he thinking about in there?

As soon as I register that vulnerable look, it passes, and he glares at me. “Where the hell is Victor?”

I shrug. “I heard he went to go eat at Nagahama Ramen.”

Yurio’s eyes go wide, then he glares at me. “Then we’re going there too. Let’s go!”

“We won’t even know if he’s still there when we arrive! We’ve been here a while!”

Yurio is already stomping back up toward the temple and he yells over his shoulder, “I don’t care! We’re going!”

* * *

It’s awkward lacing up my skates the next morning with Yurio. Victor is nowhere to be seen, but we already booked the Ice Palace this morning so we’ve got to use it. We especially can’t waste it today, since the exhibition is tomorrow. “Do you know where Victor is?”

“I heard he was drinking until dawn,” Yurio says as he stands up. He snorts, then adds, “Fucking dumbass.”

Wait, Victor isn’t here, which means I could practice something on my own. And Yurio is here with me, and he can land a quad Salchow reliably where I can’t.

“Yurio, wait!” I push myself up from the bench and clasp my hands in front of my face as I bow. “Please teach me to land a quad Salchow. Please!”

I’m afraid to open my eyes and look at him. If I just stay like this, he’ll say yes, right? He’ll be willing to do it for me if I just don’t make eye contact, right?

“Fine. Not like I have anything better to do with Victor fucking sleeping.”

So we get into the rink, and he makes me watch him jump it three times before he even lets me on the ice. I try to pay attention, to watch how his feet move — the cross-cuts on the backwards outside edge into the 3 turn, bracing and jumping from the backwards inside edge. I can _see_ what he’s doing. I can _see_ how he has the skates on the ice, I can see how he rotates and how he lands.

I’m trying to apply it to myself, how I’d do it, when I get out onto the ice. I do a few loops of the rink first, then turn and start my own cross-cuts. I envision how I look, how Yurio looked, and try to reconcile the two. I do a 3 turn and set my right skate down, push off—

It’s not right. Something went wrong.

When I land, my right leg isn’t under me the way it should be. My axis was wrong. My body keeps moving to the right even when my skate blade follows the natural path under me, and before I can even blink again I’m on my hands and knees in front of Yurio.

“You _suck_.” He’s glaring down at me and I wince at the tone of his voice. “Watch me do it again, Katsudon.”

“My name is Katsu—“ Wait. He didn’t mess up my name like so many people did in Detroit. He called me by a nickname, and one that actually isn’t all that bad.

He furrows his brow and waits for me to get up before he says, “Just watch close this time.”

Yurio pushes off to skate around the edge of the rink, and sets up for another jumping run. Another set of cross-cuts, a 3 turn, Salchow.

How does he get it so perfectly every time? I furrow my brow, focusing on him as he runs through it again, this time shouting the instructions to me as he goes, as if I haven’t heard it a thousand times.

I set out after him, and I move into my own jumping run. Cross-cuts, like I’ve done countless times before. A 3 turn, textbook in its education. Backwards inside edge, crouch and launch—

I land and it _almost_ feels right, but then I lose my balance and land on my right hip. I don’t know what went wrong this time. I get up again and frown as I rub my right hip. 

We keep going for I don’t know how long, probably another hour or so, where I struggle to land the Salchow. I manage it once, but before I can try again the doors to the rink open. “Sorry I’m late!”

Victor looks like _hell._ Though I suppose I probably would too, if I’d been drinking until dawn. His hair is rumpled and uncombed, and he’s got pronounced bags under his eyes.

His eyes flick between Yurio and me, and confusion crosses his features before settling into quiet, if tired, curiosity. “What were you two practicing just now?”

I can’t admit to Victor that I had begged a teenager for help with a quad Salchow. It’s embarrassing enough that it’s still the only piece missing in my grasp of the technical elements of my choreography, but I can’t let him know that I’d asked _Yurio_ for help. I take a deep breath and push off to skate around the outside edge of the rink. “Ah, Victor, I think I’m going to work on my choreography!”

I get all the way through one run of my routine when Victor calls for me to let Yurio have the entire rink to run through his own program. I stood off to the side, near Victor, to watch him practice.

It’s wildly different now. I can’t quite put my finger on what changed, but something’s clicked for him. The skate is more expressive, and his facial expression is serene and beautiful. It’s almost as though he’s glowing with it.

“It looks like Yurio’s found his Agape,” Victor murmurs. “Maybe he’s ready for the next stage.”

Next stage? What’s the next stage for him? Is it Victor going back to Russia with him, to work with him on the free skate? To become Yurio’s coach? Is the next stage Victor guiding him all the way to world champion by his own hand?

Is there a next stage for me, if I can manage to express my own Eros? What would my next stage be, if I already have Victor here with me?

Or is my next stage not related to my skating at all?

Victor is pleased with Yurio’s skating, and sends me out onto the ice to show him my program. I’m already better at the quad Salchow though I still don’t land it. I have the rest of the technical elements down perfectly, but something’s still missing in my performance. Something still isn’t clicking in my head, and I’m not expressing this idea of my Eros being showing a new part of myself to seduce the woman.

Again the idea of skating _as_ the woman, being pursued, enters my mind. I push it away, because I can’t think of how I’d possibly make this happen. I’m going to have to think about this. At any rate, my program has no backbone, and it’s probably incredibly boring to watch.

Maybe I should tell Victor to just go ahead and start packing now, because at the rate I’m going, tomorrow I’m going to bomb this exhibition.

* * *

Minako is, as she often is at our ryokan, drunk. I lost count of how many beers she’s had, since Mari has been clearing her glasses. I think she’d started before we even got home from the rink, so I can’t even trust what I’ve seen.

She levels a bleary look at Yurio and me and slurs, “What are you two going to do for costumes tomorrow?”

I hadn’t even considered that. I guess I could pull out one of my old costumes, but do I even have one that would work with this routine? I don’t even think any of my costumes could be considered sexy — sure, I have some flashy ones, and I have some artistically beautiful ones, but I don’t think I have any that could possibly work with what I’m trying to represent.

Maybe I could just make one work. I definitely have time before the full season starts to commission one. I’m sure it’ll be okay just for the exhibition. “I completely forgot about that,” I say, for lack of anything better.

“I didn’t pack anything either,” Yurio says around a mouthful of katsudon. I don’t blame him; it’s not like this exhibition was planned any earlier than after he’d already arrived. I wouldn’t have packed a costume either, especially if I didn't have a routine choreographed yet.

Victor laughs, and I’ve only just now realized how bright his eyes are, how flushed his face is. He must be catching up to Minako in the beer counts. “I’ve got that all taken care of! I’ve had _every costume I’ve ever worn in competition_ sent over from Russia!”

Does he mean even going back to his novice days, or are we only talking juniors and above? Can I even fit into any of his juniors costumes, or am I limited to seniors only? But he’s taller than I am, and broader across the shoulders, so would his seniors costumes even fit me well?

Either way, that’s _a lot_ of costumes.

The suitcases have all been stacked up in his room, so after we finish dinner Yurio and I head up to start going through them one by one. We quickly discover that Victor actually had a good organization system going; all of his junior costumes are separated from the senior ones. To my relief he didn’t actually send the novice ones, which is good. Even Yurio is too big to fit into those.

I only have to try on one of his senior costumes — the one he wore at last year’s GPF for his short program, specifically — to realize that no, these won’t fit me, not even with tailoring. They all hang from my shoulders and extend past my fingertips, only fitting nicely around my waist where proportionately, I’m stockier than Victor.

We stack up the suitcases containing the senior costumes on Victor’s bed, and Yurio and I dig through the junior costumes.

“Some of these are _really_ fucking stupid-looking,” Yurio murmurs. “I wouldn’t be caught dead in half of this shit.”

I roll my eyes, but at least I’m facing away from him so he doesn’t see me do it. I pick up one costume, from early on in his junior career. It’s absolutely studded with rhinestones, looking like the sky on a clear night in the dead of winter, and _very much_ not what I’d be going for if I wanted to portray sex appeal.

From over my shoulder, I hear Yurio snap, “Hey, don’t pick anything flashier than me!” What he’s holding in his hands definitely doesn’t fit the “flashy” bill, but I set the rhinestone-encrusted jumble aside anyway. There has to be something in here more along the lines of what I’m looking for.

I move on to the next suitcase, and know exactly what I’m looking at just from the peek of black and red satin.

Carefully, I lift it from the suitcase. “This is from the year you won Junior Worlds!”

The velour is so soft against my hands, the mesh so fine. The crystals sewn to the shoulder and waist are even brighter in real life than I had ever imagined from the videos and pictures. This costume must have cost a _fortune_ to commission. Why would he trust me with it?

“Ah, yeah, that was when I still had long hair, so I wanted the costume to suggest both masculinity and femininity.”

I cradle the costume in my arms as I look up at Victor. I can remember _exactly_ what he looked like in this costume, how the half-skirt twirled out from his waist with each spin just like his ponytail did, and how the peeks of red underneath felt like a secret he only had with you.

This is the perfect costume. This is what I need to wear to skate Eros.

“I can really choose this one?” I ask, my voice unsteady. “You… you’re okay with it?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

I stare back down at the costume, refusing to meet his eyes. _Because seeing you in this costume is what made me realize I wanted to be you, that I wanted_ to have _you._ “Because you won Worlds in this.”

Victor leans forward to brace his elbows on his knees, and his voice is gentle when he speaks. “Yuuri, if I didn’t want you to choose it, I wouldn’t have left it in this collection.”

That’s true. He could absolutely have set restrictions, and told Yurio and I what we could choose from.

Now I just have to pray it fits me.

I stand up and gently lay the costume down on an empty spot of Victor’s bed, then straighten up to pull my shirt over my head. I’ve changed in front of so many people over the course of my figure skating career, on top of soaking in the onsen with both Yurio and Victor, so I don’t even bat an eyelid at stripping off my athletic pants to stand in front of them in nothing but my underwear.

Carefully, cautiously, I pick up the costume again and unzip it. I step in to the legs, slowly sliding my feet through each one, and drawing the fabric up my body. I slip each of my hands into the sleeves, and to my shock, the costume fits me almost perfectly.

I twist to reach behind me for the zipper, but before I can find the tab, Victor is behind me, his breath on the exposed skin at the nape of my neck. His fingers brush against my back as he pulls up the zipper slowly. My heart is pounding in my throat, and I’m afraid to turn and face him because my face might give away something I don’t want to admit.

Like how wearing his costume — _his costume_ , the one that I fell in love with before I fell for him — makes me feel like this thing we have between us is more serious than it actually is.

My hands are shaking, and Victor runs his hands down the sleeves to squeeze them. It feels strange to have his touch muted on my left arm by the velour but heightened by the mesh on the right.

“Let me see you, Юра,” Victor murmurs into my ear. His breath stirs the hair by my ear, and I shudder.

Behind me, Yurio produces an exaggerated and overdramatic gag.

I turn to face Victor, and get to enjoy the full expression of absolute disgust on Yurio’s face. 

“You two are fucking _disgusting_. If you’re going to fuck just… just go find a hotel or something. Don’t do that shit in front of me.”

My face flushes. “We aren’t going to—“

Victor puts up a hand to quiet me as he looks me over. His gaze wandering over my body makes me feel like I’m on display and I shift under his scrutiny.

“How do I look?” I manage, my voice barely loud enough for me to hear over the pounding of my blood in my ears.

One corner of his mouth lifts in a small grin before he traces the seam between the mesh and velour zig-zagging down my chest with a single fingertip. “It looks better on you than it ever did on me. It’s perfect.”

Yurio rolls his eyes behind Victor and starts to mutter something under his breath in Russian. I catch nothing but a single instance of поросенок. I ignore him.

However, I doubt that I look better in this costume than Victor did. I remember how Victor looked in this. I had posters of it all over my damn walls before he showed up here. He looked breathtaking in this costume. It was _made_ for him. He looked beautiful.

I open my mouth to protest and Victor shakes his head. He peers at me for a moment before reaching up to push my hair back from my forehead, like how I always slick it back when I compete.

“Yes, Юра,” he says again. “Perfect.”

It’s as though the air has been sucked from the room and the feel of his hand on my forehead is like fire searing my flesh, burning itself into my skull. I can’t look away from his eyes, and somehow the light here in his room makes them look even more blue. My hands are twitching at my sides. I want to touch him, to drag my hands over his body, to feel just how perfect he thinks this costume is.

At the same time, I feel myself starting to slip down into that place in my mind I went when we spent that evening together in my room. I have not been given permission to touch him, and so I don’t. Nor have I been given permission to speak, so I don’t.

I want him to touch me so badly.

Yurio lets out an exasperated sound between clenched teeth, and scoops up a white and silver mess from the floor. “This one is fine. I’m gonna throw up if I have to keep watching you two eyefuck each other.”

He stomps off into the storage closet again and slams the door behind him, somehow seeming even more angry than he did the _first_ time I saw him do it. Somewhere in the depths of my mind I have a fleeting moment of amusement, but then I remember Victor’s gaze and I can’t look away again.

Victor, for his part, looks just as torn. He slips his hand down from my forehead to cup against my neck, and I shiver as the hair flops back against my forehead again.

He opens his mouth to speak but says nothing. His hand tightens slightly against my neck. I still haven’t been given permission to move, so I stand frozen, back rigid, unable to tear my gaze away from the eyes I’m drowning in.

“Yuuri,” Victor says, and he fact that he used my name instead of the nickname shocks me into blinking. The spell is broken, and I relax.

I draw a shuddering breath, then say, “Yes, Victor?”

He smiles, one that’s all gentleness and no threat, and says, “I can’t wait to see you skate in this.”

* * *

After dinner, I excuse myself to go for a walk. The exhibition is tomorrow and I still don't have my routine down. The thoughts I've had this week about how to portray Eros combined with what happened this afternoon with Victor have been swirling in my mind all evening, and I think I have a solution.

I was on the right track when I had the fleeting thought that I needed to skate as the woman, I’m sure of it. I have never been the type to pursue anyone, so how could I portray that without knowing anything about it?

I am, however, shaping up to be very good at _being_ pursued.

The feel of Victor’s eyes on me, the light touches he uses to get my attention, the soft whispers in my ears… I know how those feel. I know I can portray the effect they have. If I learned how to make it look like I was the woman being pursued by the playboy, I'd have this in the bag.

There's only one person who's able to teach me that at this time of night, so before I leave the ryokan I pack a bag with my dance gear.

It’s not the first time I’ve knocked on Minako’s door this late at night, and when she answers she’s wearing a robe. Her eyes are bleary like she's still feeling those beers from earlier and she’s got her hair pulled up in a messy bun. “Yuuri, it’s late. You want to practice at this time of night when you have the exhibition in the morning?”

“Minako,” I say, “please help me. I need you to teach me something.”

She steps back from the door to allow me to enter. She looks me over and nods with a sigh. “All right. Go get changed, and I’ll get dressed again.”

I head up to the studio and change into my dance clothes. When Minako comes back she’s dressed again, and she plants her hands on her hips. “What do you need to learn so desperately that you’d come knocking on my door less than twelve hours before you need to be up for the exhibition?”

“I know how I want to express Eros in my skate, but I need your help. I need to learn how to move in feminine ways.”

Minako furrows her brow. “Feminine ways? What do you mean?”

I take the opportunity to stretch while I talk. “I can see a story in the routine Victor’s choreographed for me. A playboy comes to town and decides to seduce the most beautiful woman there. She resists, but eventually falls for him, and at the end he leaves her to move on to the next place and woman.” I look up from the floor at Minako. “I’m not the playboy. That’s not me. But I _can_ be the woman.”

“So you want me to teach you how to move like a woman so…”

“So I can portray Eros from the perspective of the person receiving it.”

She doesn’t say anything for a few minutes. She just watches me stretch, then once I’m finished she says softly, “If that’s how you feel, Yuuri. Let’s get started, then.”

The very first thing she did was place me in the center of the barre, facing the mirror. She stood next to me in a neutral position and said, “Look at me, Yuuri.”

I stared at her in the mirror, doing my best not to shuffle uncomfortably. Minako had been my ballet instructor for nearly two decades now, and staring at her this intently was awkward. “Okay?”

“Look at how I’m standing,” she said, less stern this time. “Look at how I’m holding myself, and compare it to yourself. What’s the difference?”

This time I studied her body. She had her weight balanced on her left foot with her right foot slightly forward, which cocked her left hip out to the side. I turned my eyes forward to my own body, where I stood in a comfortably relaxed position. My shoulders and hips were squared, not turned or cocked in any way. I’d never thought about it before, but we _did_ stand very differently.

I looked over at her reflection again, and shifted position. I moved my right foot forward and put my weight on my left foot, and to my surprise my left hip rounded out.

I moved my eyes up to her shoulders and brought my left hand up to rest on my hip, then let my right hand dangle at my side.

In the mirror, I hardly looked like the same person. Curves had appeared where before there was nothing.

“That’s a fine start, Yuuri,” Minako murmured.

The next thing she did was teach me to swing my hips when I walked. It wouldn’t show up as much while I was skating but it seems to be the basis of how women move, and she made sure I had it down perfectly before I was allowed to move on to anything else. I started to mentally translate it to the movements I made on the ice — maybe I could drop into character while skating to the center to set up to skate. It would certainly add to my flair, to allow my hips to sway side to side as I stroked across the ice.

“For your hands,” Minako continued, “Just remember what I’ve taught you for ballet. Women… we normally have smoother movements than men. More delicate, I guess. Especially if you’re acting coy, which is what I’m gathering you want to do?”

I nod. I want to embody the most beautiful woman, the one being pursued by the playboy who comes into her life like a tornado.

The playboy who comes into someone’s life like a snowstorm, like an Adonis in a hot spring.

Minako nods, then extends an arm to the side in a delicate flow, her hand falling naturally into the position she’s trained for decades to use in ballet. “Exaggerate it. You want them to be able to _see_ the femininity from the judges’ table.”

I follow her lead, my motion grossly fluid.

“Maybe not that much. More like this…”

We must have spent half an hour just on hand positions, and finally it clicks.

“Now, show me your starting position. If we can get that and your end position down, I think you can work out the rest of it.”

I think back to how she stood in front of the mirror. My initial starting pose is a neutral one, but I cock my hip to the side instead, and drop my shoulders.

Minako circles me and nods once she arrives in front of me. “That’s good. Now, for your face. At this point in the story the playboy hasn’t arrived yet, right?”

“That’s right.” I nod, though I hold the rest of the pose.

“So then you don’t need to look coy, really. But if you’re truly the most beautiful woman in town, you should look confident in this.” She smiles at me. “So maybe a little half-smile, eyes cast downward. You know all eyes are on you, Yuuri.”

I imagine how this would feel. Obviously I’ve been the center of attention many times in my life; being a competitive figure skater gets you used to the feeling, since you’re completely alone on the ice. But this, what Minako is mentioning, is different. I’m used to everyone staring while I’m on the ice, but in my everyday life I blend in. I’m not remarkable when I’m not in the spotlight.

So, I have to act as though I have that confidence all the time. I reach deep inside and try to find that feeling, drop my eyes the floor, and let the pride swell in my chest.

“Yes, Yuuri, just like that!”

I flick my eyes up and look at my reflection through my eyelashes. I can hardly recognize myself, with this serene look of self-confidence I’ve never seen before on my face.

Minako grins. “Oh, that’s even better. Yes, Yuuri, when you make eye contact like that through your eyelashes it’s _perfect_. It really sells the idea that you know you’re the most beautiful woman in the room.”

My prideful smirk gets a little bigger, and Minako’s grin grows to reflect it. “Okay, so now that you seem to have that, show me your end pose.”

I pivot, and bring my arms up to wrap about myself. I cock my hip out to the side just as Minako had taught me, and try to assume a similar confident face like I had before.

Minako steps back and crosses her arms in front of her chest, her lips pursed in thought. “That's pretty good, Yuuri, but I don't think you should look that way this time. You said the story you imagined ended with the playboy abandoning the woman he seduced?”

Oh, right. I shouldn't be looking confident. My face falls, and I drop my gaze back to the floor.

“That's more like it, Yuuri. Don't be afraid to look crushed at the end of that story, if you're the one being abandoned. Make the audience feel your pain. Let them know how much this has hurt you.”

She moves around me in a small circle, bumping an elbow up here, a shoulder down here. With gentle hands, she urges me to pop a hip out more, then nods. “Take a look. See what I did?”

I look up at my reflection in the mirror, then nod. “I think I’ve got it.”

“Okay, then I want you to get back into this position.”

Minako made me practice this position repeatedly until I could get back into it perfectly. Once she was satisfied, she talked with me about the rest of the show, and we reviewed how I should make my facial expressions look during the routine.

“Well, Yuuri, it’s late,” she said at around eleven. “I think you've got it now. You need to get home so you can get sleep before the exhibition.”

I nod. “Thank you, Minako. This was a great help.”

She smiles and pats a hand against my cheek. “You'll do great tomorrow. Just remember what we went over.”

“Thank you,” I murmur as I gather up my things. “I’ll see you at the Ice Castle tomorrow.”

She walks me out and closes the door behind me, and then I start the walk home. Hasetsu may rely on tourism for a lot of its income, but it still goes to sleep earlier than a lot of other towns. I’m the only one out here at nearly eleven-thirty.

I hope Victor isn't angry that I was out so late.

The thought of Victor brings back the memory of trying on that costume in front of him, of his hand on my skin and his breath on my ear.

Part of me wants to wake him up when I get back to the ryokan, but I know I can’t, that it’s a terrible idea the night before an exhibition. Not only that, Yurio is sleeping in the storage closet off the banquet room Victor is sleeping in and I doubt we could be quiet enough not to disturb him.

Still, even just thinking about it is enough to make me feel like my skin still bears some remnant of his touch. A fire has been lit in my belly again, and I adjust my bag on my shoulders to be able to hunch over slightly to try to hide the way I tuck myself up under the waistband of my underwear, in case anyone happens to see me. The last thing I need is to run into someone with my pants tenting.

What would I do with Victor, anyway? We hadn't done a whole lot together, and the night before an exhibition is a terrible time to start exploring new physical things. The last thing I want to do is somehow injure myself.

But if I could, _if_ I could convince myself to come to Victor this late at night, I think I’d want to feel him in my mouth. I’d kiss my way down his body, and maybe he'd put a hand in my hair, urge me farther down. I’d sink to my knees while he stood, stroke my hand along his length, follow the movements with my tongue. I would take him into my mouth, and look up at his facial expression while I did it. I’d look for his eyes closing in pleasure, wait for him to praise me — would he call me игрушка моя again? — and enjoy the feel of his hand tightening in my hair.

At least, that's how I think it would go.

Before I can carry this thought process out any farther, I realize I’ve arrived at the ryokan. I remove my shoes at the genkan and head up to the second floor. I sneak as quietly as I can across the floor, but as I pass the banquet room Victor slides the door open.

I freeze as my breath catches in my throat. His eyes flick down my body and my cheeks are on fire. I pray he can't see how hard I am, since I’m still tucked up under my waistband.

“Can I talk to you in your room?” Victor whispers.

I don't know what else to do, so I nod. Maybe it’s important for tomorrow.

He follows me down the hall and I deposit my bag in the corner before turning to face him.

He doesn't say anything, but steps forward to kiss me. I didn't even realize how badly I’ve been wanting it all day until he did it, and I let out a desperate moan as I clutch at his shoulders.

When he flicks his tongue against my lips I open them to let him in, and I press my body against his. He groans as I press my hips against his, and then he pulls back. I furrow my brow and try to lean in for another kiss but he shakes his head.

“I needed to do that. It seemed like you did, too.”

“Yeah, I did,” I whisper. “But why did you stop?”

Victor smiles at me and lets a hand drift down my side. “Because you need your rest. Were you with Minako?”

I nod. “She and I worked on—”

He presses a finger to my lips then smiles. “Don't tell me. Let me see it tomorrow.”

Again, I nod, but I don't say anything else.

“Also…” He grins as he pulls his finger back from my lips to cup over my crotch. “I felt that. Were you already thinking of me before you even got upstairs?”

My mouth has gone dry with him asking that question, and it takes everything I have not to push forward against his hand. “I’ve been thinking about you since this afternoon,” I whisper.

He smiles at me and leans forward to brush a kiss over my lips, almost too light to even be called a kiss at all. “So have I. But with this—” he rubs his hand against my cock, which draws a strangled whine from me— “Don't touch.”

“What?!” My eyes nearly bug out of my head. “But—”

“I said no,” Victor murmurs. “Do you have an objection to this?”

I know he's asking if I want to use the word. I know I _could_ , if I really wanted to.

But I don't. I don't want to use the word. I find I want to do what he's commanded.

“No, Victor,” I mumble as I drop my gaze to the floor.

“Look at me, игрушка моя.”

I snap my eyes back up, my breath hitching as he uses the pet name for me. “Yes?”

“You understand you are not to touch? Let me make this clear: this is not me saying ‘don’t come,’ this is me saying ‘do not even start.’ Do you understand me?” He has that same stern tone again, the one that makes me feel as though I’ve been shoved off a dock into the ocean. As long as I listen to his voice, as long as I keep staring into his eyes, I’m safe. I won’t drown as long as I do everything he says.

I nod. “I understand, Victor.”

“Well done,” Victor murmurs, then he kisses my forehead gently. “Get some sleep. I'll look forward to seeing your performance tomorrow.”

He slips out of my room as silently as we came into it, and I press the heels of my hand into my eyes and groan softly. This is going to be hell tonight.

I strip off my clothes as carefully as I can, and grimace as the cloth brushes my cock, which is still as furiously hard as ever. I’m not sure how I’ll sleep with this, but I’m going to need to figure it out if I want to want to do well tomorrow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (I may not know how to write slow burn, but I'm pretty okay at sexual tension.)


End file.
